I Never Knew
by nerac
Summary: After a phone call from a stranger turns her life upside down, Isabella Dwyer realizes that the people you trust the most sometimes tell the biggest lies.  Can she convince a man in uniform to help her discover the things she never knew? AH
1. Chapter 1

_Much love to **Nicki**, **bellamarie117**, **cosmogirl7481 **and **ltlerthqak **... without whom this wouldn't be what it is. Thank you, girls._

**No copyright infringement is intended, Stephenie Meyer owns these characters.**

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I don't like the unknown.

I don't care for what I can't control.

My life up until this point has been orderly and controlled. There have been little to no surprises. Mom still goes shopping with me to offer her opinion, and I spend my weekdays working in Dad's office as a receptionist. I live an easy (if not boring) life with my best friend, Rosalie in a condo that used to belong to my parents.

Nothing much ever changes, and I like it that way.

When things _do_ change and I'm not prepared for it, I tend to freak out. And right now, I'm kind of freaking out. Everything and everyone has a place. Boots go on the top shelf, jeans go on the right side of the closet and dress shirts belong on the left.

And me? I belong in California.

Right now, I'm not where I belong, and I feel like someone has moved my jeans to the left side of the closet without my permission.

I have this compulsive need to fix what I can't fix, even though I know it's not really that far out of place. It's just… different. Still, it bugs me.

Rain is falling softly on my newly styled hair as I exit my car and look around. The fall breeze blows around me, raising goosebumps on my exposed limbs. I'm already frustrated and the rain is making me even more uncomfortable. This weather is so different from what I'm used to.

I don't really know what I'm doing here. Acting this rashly is really out of character for me; I know the consequences of careless actions. Something could change or break; falling out of reach of my control.

It's easier to keep things the same if you just go with the flow. Rocking the boat just isn't my style.

To my surprise, I was forced to park almost a block away. The cold wind slices through me, lifting the hem of my dress. I begin to shiver. Wishing I had thought to bring my dress coat, I take the first step, alone, like a lost fish in a sea of people. The strangers walking in the dreary weather alongside me offer soft smiles and looks of pity. There are hundreds of them—men, women and children, something I definitely didn't expect to see. I'm thankful for it, though. More people make it easier to blend in.

As subtly as possible, I peer around at their faces, wishing. Neither the things, nor the people I see are familiar. I'd hoped for some kind of spark, some whisper of recognition.

Anything. _Something_.

But I've got nothing.

There's a low murmur of sound in the crowd – a hum – as people take their spots and wait for the start of the ceremony. If I were smarter, or if I'd thought ahead, I would have chosen to hide beneath a tree and watch from a distance. Instead, I am swept into the cloud of sadness that lingers above us all. I keep my head down; both to keep the rain out of my eyes and to gather my thoughts. I don't truly belong here, and the feeling of helplessness spirals inside me.

I wonder if they can tell that I don't fit. I glance around, curious if my outfit tells them something about me. My dark blue dress feels like it may as well be a red flag; they're dressed in blacks, charcoals and browns. Some are wearing guns on their hips, complimenting the shiny badges on their chests. A few even have tear stains on their cheeks. I don't match, and to me I feel as if I'm sticking out like a sore thumb. I look for a place to stand.

Despite the throngs of people that surround me, my eyes are drawn to one. Standing in front of the casket draped in red, white and blue, there is a woman with dark skin and short black hair. Her eyes are rimmed in red, and the Kleenex she's holding in her hand looks like it should have been replaced several sniffles ago. Still, she's clutching it as if it's the last one she may ever have.

My hand twitches in a comfortable, practiced motion. Suddenly I'm desperate for a pen or a pencil. Her expression, so grave and desolate, is somehow beautiful to me, and I wish I had anything that would enable me to detail her pain on paper. It makes me wish I'd thought to bring my sketch book.

To her right, a large boy clutches an umbrella over their heads. On her left, a sour faced girl holds the sad woman's arm. Her face is fierce and determined, as if she's trying to keep the broken woman from falling.

I can't help but wonder who she was to him – who _they_ were to him.

Even more, I can't help but wonder who_ I_ was to him.

When my phone rang two days ago, I'd answered it expecting James. My last date with him had been a complete failure. Our normally fun exchanges were off, and I had no explanation for why. I grabbed the phone eagerly to let him know I was running a few minutes behind for our date, instead, someone unfamiliar had been on the line.

_"Hi, J," I answered, grabbing my bag from the table. "I'm on my way out the door now."_

_"Miss Dwyer?" It was an unfamiliar voice, and I paused, trying to place it._

_"Shit," I murmured. "Sorry, I thought you were someone else. Yes, this is Isabella Dwyer."_

_"Miss Dwyer, my name is Jacob Black. I'm calling regarding one of my clients. I'm very sorry for your loss ma'am; I know how difficult this all must be for you. I was hoping you were planning to be in town to attend the reading of the will."_

_"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, confused. My heart picked up speed and worry crept into my chest. My parents... They were away on a trip. Images of terrible accidents flew through my mind, and I prayed that nothing had happened._

_"The reading of the will," he replied. I stood there, puzzled. On the other end of the line I could hear papers shuffling, and then he said a name I didn't recognize._

_"I'm sorry Mr. Black; I don't know anyone by that name. Are you sure you have the right person?" I asked, even more confused._

_"This is Isabella Dwyer, Correct? You were born September thirteenth, nineteen eighty-seven in Seattle, Washington?"_

"_Uh, yeah… that's my— uh, that's me. Listen, I don't want to be rude, but how did you get this number?"_

_"It's listed in the paperwork my client left with me," Mr. Black replied, sounding a bit confused._

_"I'm sorry Mr. Black, but I think you've got the wrong person."_

I'd hung up before he could say anything else.

My date with James was another failure. Though I'd been committed to giving him one more chance, for some reason, I couldn't seem to get the phone call out of my mind, and I couldn't stop running the dead man's name over and over in my head, trying desperately to place it.

I'd been distracted the entire night, and when James dropped me off at home, with a vague promise to call me the next day, I nodded noncommittally. The earlier phone call was still ringing in my ears, a puzzle I couldn't find the missing piece to. I checked my machine again, finding that there had been more messages left by Mr. Black. The second one included details for not only the reading of this mystery man's will, but for his funeral as well.

I tried shrugging it off, pushing it to the side; tried to laugh at the fact that of all the wrong numbers I'd ever received, this one took the cake. I was sure that the man had me confused for someone else, or that perhaps Renee might have known the poor gentleman who had died. I reasoned with myself that maybe somehow their information was old, or incorrect.

Still though, I really disliked not knowing. In order to make sense of it all, I tried to contact my mother. I knew it wasn't going to be easy – the last number I had for her and my dad was a hotel in Prague, and their itinerary taped to the fridge clearly showed that they should be in France by then. On a whim, they'd decided to spend time backpacking through Europe like a couple of teenagers.

I always wondered why I never possessed their sense of casualness about everything. This trip was closest I'd ever come to emulating their carefree behavior.

Days later, after several attempts to reach her and my dad, I still hadn't heard from them. I'd left message after message at the last place I knew they'd stayed, hoping that soon enough, they'd return my calls. For my sanity, I needed to find out what was going on and put this whole mix-up to rest.

For two days, the whole thing just gnawed at me: the man's name, and the fact that _my _name had somehow been listed, not to mention the lawyer having my birth date. I tried telling myself it was just a coincidence, but after losing sleep to the questions in my head for those two nights in a row, and not receiving any kind of reply from my parents, I decided to take action. I impulsively found myself on the phone to the airlines.

The next morning, without telling anyone what I was doing, I was at SFO boarding a flight to Washington State.

It wasn't like anyone was going to miss the boss' daughter if she didn't show up for a few days of work. And the only way I could get answers – get some kind of control – was to be here.

Walking softly to keep my heels from sinking into the wet earth, I find a comfortable spot behind two taller men where I can peer through the gap in their arms. Somewhere in the distance, I hear music start. The high pitched notes of a bagpipe begin to carry on the breeze, weaving through the bodies and the air around me. The song is familiar and haunting, and I look to my left and into the crowd. The music makes the murmurs of the gathered mourners immediately disappear. I watch, taking a mental picture, as everyone closes their eyes and listens to each note and absorbs the meaning behind it.

As detached as I may feel, even I find that my chest is tight with emotion as I listen to the notes.

Soft voices whisper around me as the song concludes, until two men covered in neatly-pressed dress blues step toward the casket.

It's difficult to see their faces from my vantage point, but I can see their hands. One man in particular, the one who is turned opposite to me, catches my attention. I find my eyes glued to him. I'm mesmerized by the way his long fingers and strong arms move. His motions are precise, meticulous, as he and the other man fold the flag that adorned the top of the granite colored casket into careful triangles.

My hand twitches again, my fingers tracing the ghostly figure into the air as I commit each detail to memory; such beauty deserves to be on paper.

As they work, a new song begins, even sadder than the last. Everyone around me bows their heads, but I keep my gaze on the folding of the flag, and the precise movements of the beautiful hands.

_...Through many dangers, toils and snares... I have already come; 'tis Grace that brought me safe thus far..._

Impulsively, I count; when they've finished, there are thirteen folds. Both men move with military precision and care, each movement clearly practiced to make this perfect. As they finish, each takes a turn, offering a final salute to their fallen comrade. It's a gesture that not only says goodbye, but speaks volumes of how much respect they held for the deceased. Absently, I wonder how missed he will be.

_...Yeah, when this flesh and heart shall fail, and mortal life shall cease, I shall possess within the veil, A life of joy and peace..._

It's the man with the fingers my eyes are still drawn to; I can almost feel the respect he held for the man inside the coffin in the way his shoulders remain so straight. When the flag is placed in his hands, he's careful – keeping it level with his waist with his head held high.

He walks to the woman with the Kleenex, replacing the old tissue in her hands with the neatly folded flag.

_...Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound..._

With a final salute and a kiss to her cheek, he moves to stand at her side. And for some reason, I want to see him, to offer my sympathy with a simple look. But I can't. His face is shadowed by the brim of his hat, eyes cast down to his white gloved hands clasped in front of him. Murmurs pick up once more, and then the shots begin and everyone's eyes point to the sky.

I zone out then, biting my lip in thought. There's something about all of this: hearing _Taps_, seeing those thirteen folds, and the ringing that's left behind in my ears from the twenty-one shots made into the air. The imagery of it all, the careful ceremony so layered with respect and grief, makes my insides clench. Everything is traditional and holds so much symbolism. All signs of respect for someone who has died the way this man did.

The rest of the funeral goes by in what feels like a blur, and I'm startled when the crowd around me starts to move. As we all stand poised to exit the cemetery, person after person speak around me in hushed whispers about honor and nobility, offering their quiet praise to a fallen hero. Their words are heartfelt, and they help me realize and understand that every bit of what's happening today is a well-deserved tribute to someone who left this world too soon.

His accolades are passed from person to person, kind remembrances of the man he was lingering like their own entity amongst the crowd. Expressions of grief layered with stories of what a great person he was surround me on all sides, making me yearn in an odd way. I can't help myself from wishing that I _had _known him.

Because this man, the reason I'm here – Charles Swan – gave his life to protect another.

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_Chapter 2 will post on Wednesday 11/17/10. Keep an eye out for teasers on The Fictionators and Edwardville._

**As per usual, I'm behind the couch right about now. Thank you so much for taking the time to read, I'd love to know what your impressions are (and if you have any questions).**

_Reviewers will receive a teaser for Chapter 2._

**xx  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**I am totally having a Cameron Diaz, high on energy pills moment and screaming... OMG, SERIOUSLY YOU GUISE! I am absolutely _floored _by the response to this story! If I could, I would give each and every one of you a hug.  
**

_Much love to **Nicki**, **bellamarie117**, **cosmogirl7481 **and **ltlerthqak **... without whom this wouldn't be what it is. Thank you, girls._

**No copyright infringement is intended, Stephenie Meyer owns these characters.**

**

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**"Come _on_," I growl to no one. I exhale sharply, blowing my once-smooth bangs out of my eyes.

I'm already cranky and tired by the time I make it back to my hotel, and this stupid lock (which, coincidentally, looks like it should have been replaced before I was born) is pissing me off. Wriggling the key, I jiggle the knob and push as hard as I can. Finally the lock gives, and I lean down to grab the fresh copy of the _Peninsula Daily News _that's been left on my 'doorstep' to bring it inside.

I toss the paper across the bed and lean down to pull my heels off, dropping them to the floor with two careless thunks. I fight the urge to bend over and straighten them as I reach for the back of my dress. I just want to put something more comfortable on. I stare down at the shoes as my dress falls into a puddle on the floor and laugh to myself. After a weeks' worth of sleepless nights, I simply don't have the energy for anything right now, not even my own compulsive tendencies.

After the crowd dispersed from the funeral, I chose not to linger. I wasn't prepared to speak to anyone; really, what could I say? I can only imagine the awkwardness of someone casually asking who I am and how I knew him. I've really got no way to answer that other than to shrug. Besides, I want answers, and the last thing I need is to look like one of those creepers who only goes to funerals to watch others mourn because it makes them feel better about themselves.

I move over to the dresser where my clothes are to pull out a pair of yoga pants and a tank-top. In the bathroom, I crank the leaky faucet to the left and wait for the water to get warm before running a washcloth across my face; freeing it of the small clutter of mascara and lipgloss that's left over from this morning. I don't wear much makeup, and it comes off quickly as I swipe the cloth across my lips and eyes.

The trip back to the hotel – or the inn, as the owners call it – took much longer than I expected. The traffic leaving the funeral was unreal. There were sirens, lights and people walking between vehicles here, there and everywhere. I smiled politely as they cut in front of me, trying to stay patient as I made my way down the crowded street. I know at a time like that I should have been anything but frustrated. I know that I should have been forgiving of their rudeness by shrugging it off, but it was really difficult not to graciously show them my middle finger.

I probably should have stayed out of the room, made an effort to see more than just the cemetery – something at least to get my mind off things. But, after fighting the jumble of cars and pedestrians just to get back here, I'm drained. Add to that the sleeplessness of the night before, and I really need a nap.

My phone beeps from the other room. I grab it on my way back to my bed, really fucking hoping there will be a message from one of my parents. I came here so suddenly that I'm now beginning to question what I was thinking. I sigh when there are no messages from mom or dad, but there is one from Jacob Black.

_"Miss Dwyer, I'm sorry to have missed you. I was hoping we could have made arrangements to meet before tomorrow and that my wife and I could escort you today. If you get this message before you return, please give me a call."_

With a sigh, I press seven to delete it and lie back against the pillows.

When I'm comfortable, I shut my eyes and try to sleep. My brain, however, has other ideas.

Tomorrow. The reading of the will. The reason I came here.

Giving up on the sleep I desperately need, I run my fingers through my hair and bite my lip. I really don't want to think about tomorrow; I want to be distracted. I want this to all be over and for everything to just... make _sense_ again. And I'd really like to know how this man knew my name and why he thought I was part of his life.

Anxiety floods through me, and the weariness I've been feeling these past few days seems to dissipate. I don't feel tired anymore. I know what my problem is: I'm antsy, I'm nervous and I can't sit still. I sit up and look around, noticing the shoes and dress I left on the floor. Desperate for something to keep my hands busy, I stand up and rush to straighten them. _I should have done it earlier. _

My stomach growls at me, asking for food, but I don't want to eat. Nothing sounds good, and I know I'll regret it later. Still wanting a distraction, I grab the newspaper from the bed and shake it open, sighing when I realize that no matter what I do, where I go, or where I look, this situation is going to stare me right in the face.

Today, of course, it's on the front page.

_**Slain Police Chief to be laid to Rest**_

_Nearly one week following the death of Police Chief Charles Swan, the department continues to search for the suspect they believe is responsible. Port Angeles Police Department spokesperson Michael Newton made a statement on Monday citing that they believe they are close to apprehending Lonnie Vance, who after a standoff with police, fired the shot that sent Chief Swan to a local hospital. Despite best efforts made by hospital employees, Mr. Swan later died from injuries sustained in the incident._

_As quoted by interim chief Sam Uley, the city of Port Angeles is in mourning. "Charlie was one of a kind; he will be greatly missed by all of us. We will do whatever we can to bring this man to justice."_

_Police Chief Charles Swan was a twenty year veteran of the department and leaves behind an adopted son. He will be laid to rest today at Mt. Angeles Memorial Park, US Highway 101 at Monroe Road, in a ceremony set to begin at twelve PM._

Front. Back. News. Weather. Comics. I read everything, trying to clear my head of tomorrow and the 'what if's' that keep popping into my mind. The words are useless, though, and I can't help wondering who else will be there, who else might know who I am, and what exactly I'm going to learn.

I groan out loud and throw the paper in the trash before looking at my sketchbook on the bedside table. A sigh escapes my lips and I smile; if anything can calm me, it's this.

For the rest of the night, my sketchbook is draped across my lap. My lucky pencil is between my fingers, tracing out images from my mind in as much detail as I can recall. With each pass across the page my body and mind loses some of its anxiety, and my tension channels out of me and onto the page. This has always been my way – putting my energy into something tangible helps me think. I'm focused, relaxed, as page after page fills with ghostly hands, straight shoulders and a sad woman with Kleenex.

When my head hits the pillow and my eyes finally close in the early morning hours, I dream of strong hands, straight shoulders and warm, warm, _warm._

**x-x-x**

My dream from the night before is still fresh in my mind when I wake up. As I move to get out of bed, I catch sight of my sketchbook lying open on the table and smile at the picture. Those hands... I can't help the shiver that spreads through me when I think of how _warm _they were. In places that haven't been that warm in a really, really long time. Closing my eyes, I sigh and finally – reluctantly – pull myself from the bed to get ready. There's a nervous flutter in my stomach, and not even the reminder of that warmth is enough to stop it. Nor is the heat of the shower.

The outfit I chose before coming out here is conservative: straight leg black slacks and a button down blouse. I know I don't need to impress anyone, but I don't want to look like a slob, either. My hands shake as I try to dress and when my stomach grumbles, reminding me that I haven't eaten since the previous morning, I write it off as hunger.

When I arrived in town two nights ago, I remember seeing a little coffee shop just down the street from the hotel. Since I seem to have a habit of being perpetually early for everything, I know I'll have plenty of time to grab some coffee and maybe something small to eat before I need to be at Jacob Black's office.

A small coffee, a polite conversation with a handsome old man named Joe and a bagel later, I'm back in the car and navigating what some might consider traffic. It's nothing compared to California, but at least it's better than yesterday. I scan the buildings around me, waiting for the GPS to tell me which way to go. After I make my final turn, I spot the sign advertising the sale of 'Insurance and Bonds' that Jacob told me to look for and search for a parking spot.

I'm nervous as I make my way to the entrance and pull the door open. Needing some semblance of normal, some sign that things aren't as out of control as they feel right now, I look down to make sure I haven't forgotten anything in the car that I may need. My keys, wallet, room key and a pack of gum are there. My sketchbook isn't. My heartbeat picks up and I stop to compose myself, remembering where it is and that it's safe; that I haven't lost it.

In front of me is a staircase and I step forward, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart. I navigate my way up the flight of stairs, still following the directions of Jacob's message so I don't get lost and end up arriving late.

There's a small reception desk at the top of the stairs, but it's empty. I can hear the boom of a voice behind a door on the right, but I don't want to knock and interrupt. Instead, I walk closer to the desk and lean against it, checking for a bell or something to announce my arrival.

As I'm searching, I hear more voices and footsteps drifting up the stairs behind me. I turn and see first the sour faced girl from the funeral. She looks at me and, if possible, her face twists even more. Behind her is the woman with the Kleenex. She looks better today, though her face is still drawn and tired, like she hasn't been sleeping.

I want to pull out my sketchbook, to take in the slope of her nose and the puff under her eyes and make sure the details I pulled from memory match what my eyes see at this very second. I have to fight the compulsion I feel to ask her to sit for me and remain very still.

At her heels is the big kid who held the umbrella. Unsure of what else to do, I smile politely and nod, dipping my head in greeting as I bury my hands in the tiny pockets of my slacks. The boy...man— whatever. He's big; much bigger than I noticed yesterday. He waves to me and grins toothily. Despite the dark color of his eyes, they're really bright. Friendly. His smile is infectious and I return with one of my own, grateful for the small gesture.

I kind of expect one of them to say something, but they don't. The silence around us feels like it's growing with each second that passes as they stare at me. It feels like they want _me_ to say something, but I'm just as much at a loss of what to say as they are. In order to avoid staring back, I bite my lip and take my hands from my pockets, clutching my purse tighter to my side before lowering my eyes to the ground.

This entire situation is just..._uncomfortable_, and I begin to wonder where Jacob Black is. I also really wish I had thought to sit down when I got here. I don't know what to do with my hands and feet, so I'm just alternating crossing my feet and putting my hands in and out of my pocket.

Before I can freak myself out too much, the office door behind us flies open and I jump in surprise. A man walks out, and he has to be one of the biggest men I've ever seen. He towers over the other kid, and, while I was convinced earlier the guy from the funeral was a giant, I'm rethinking that now. This new guy's shoulders are wide, giving an entirely new meaning to the term 'big and tall.' _I wonder where he bought the suit he's wearing – Colossus"R"Us? _ His black hair is pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, and his skin, like the others in the room, is a deep russet brown.

This must be Mr. Black.

He's smiling, and I watch as his eyes dance between all of us. When they fall on me, I see them soften and his smile grows even bigger. I don't understand how he can smile like that knowing what he's about to do. But, from the deep creases I see embedded in his cheeks, I can tell it's something he does often. I'm a perfect testament to people who have their own coping mechanisms in uncomfortable situations, and if I had to guess, I would say that Jacob's is his smile.

With a clap of his hands, he looks back at the others. "Good morning Sue, Seth, Leah. Why don't you all go into my office and have a seat?"

My fingers tap the counter of the desk in front of me and I try my best to appear casual. I remain in place as they move to his door. He didn't say my name, and I'm not quite sure what else to do. After seeing them yesterday I'm certain they're here for the same reason as me, and I wonder why it is that we're not all in the office together.

As the others disappear, the gigantic lawyer's hands find their way into the pockets of his slacks and he walks toward me slowly, like he's trying not to scare away a lost kitten.

It's actually a pretty apt description – my nervous tapping is starting to sound like claws skidding across a wooden floor.

"You have got to be Isabella," he says quietly. His eyes roam my face, searching for... what, I don't know.

Nervously, I clear my throat and try to nod. "Uh, yes. I'm Isabella. Bella, really... people call me Bella," I stammer, tapping my fingers again before drawing a small circle into the fake wood desk.

"Bella," he says, holding his hand out for mine. "I'm Jake. I was... Charlie was like family to me. I'm very sorry for your loss."

I want to feel bad for him, that he's lost this man who he was close to, but I don't know how.

"Mr. Black?" I question. "I've told you before that I didn't know this man. I haven't been able to get in touch with my mother, but... What I mean in, are you sure that it's my name listed? I had to come and be sure, I don't..." I trail off, reaching up to toy with one of my earrings. Even I realize how ridiculous I must sound. "I'm not sure why I'm here," I admit, defeated.

He looks perplexed as he stares at me. Before he can respond, footsteps sound out behind, and our heads turn in the direction of the noise. The steps are heavy in the enclosed hallway, and then a man in uniform appears at the top of the stairs, somewhat out of breath.

"Jake," he says, not noticing me as I look him over.

My eyes roam as he struggles to catch his breath. The heavy boots that pounded the stairs are covered at the bottom by well-fitted, tight black slacks on long legs. Above them, a neatly tucked and pressed shirt is wrapped around his torso, accentuating his frame nicely. There's a gold badge pinned to his chest that catches the light hanging above us. His boots thud, echoing across the hardwood as he walks a few more steps and his hand lifts to remove his hat. In what looks like a completely practiced motion, he tucks it beneath his arm.

My mouth falls open at what's underneath. A mess of brownish hair (that honestly makes me a little jealous with the way it looks so perfectly unkempt) falls forward into his eyes. He reaches up to run his fingers through it, pulling it back. I can't help but stare, and I recognize those hands.

_…I dreamed about them. Warm, warm, warm.  
_  
I feel like I'm in a movie, where everything moves in slow motion. His hand falls from his hair and my eyes are glued to it as he moves to the holster wrapped around his waist and he grips the top of his weapon casually.

Finally, I lick my lips and move my gaze to settle on his face. Amazingly (and quite possibly unfairly to boot), it's not just the hair and the hands and the long legs. He's got a nice jaw and lips that look kissable, too.

My eyes are everywhere, taking in as much detail as they can. I can't help them from returning to his hand, and I become momentarily lost in the thought of what it would be like to have his long fingers wrapped around me the way they're wrapped around that weapon.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I just got off shift and Sam is still being a dick."

And goodness, his voice is just as nice as the rest of him. _Yep, just like I thought: completely unfair_.

As if just noticing me, he looks over and his mouth falls open, his perfect jaw tensing as he speaks slowly. "Holy shit."

"I know, right?" Jacob remarks with a bit of a snort as he glances at me from the corner of his eye.

Looking down, I wonder why they're looking at me like that and what their little exchange could possibly mean. I search to make sure I haven't forgotten to button a button or zip a zipper. Or that I didn't trail toilet paper into the office on the bottom of my shoe. I find nothing.

When I look back up, the officer is still staring at me and I want to ask him _why_. Instead, I stare back, unable to help noticing again just how soft his lips look, even pursed in a way that makes him look angry.

"Masen," Jacob says then, interrupting our staring. "Why don't you go into my office with Sue and the kids?"

"Yeah, okay," the man in the uniform replies, turning and walking over to pull open the door to Jake's office. Just before he steps inside, he turns his head and looks at me again. This time I bite my lip and avert my eyes from his hard stare.

"Bella?" Jacob asks. "We need to talk. I just have a few small things I have to straighten out with these folks, and then you and I can sit down and speak, okay?"

I open my eyes to look at him, giving a small nod as he motions with his hand for me to have a seat.

Ten minutes pass, and I sit there, listening to the soft murmur of voices behind Mr. Black's closed door. When I check the clock again at the twenty minute mark, the murmurs have grown increasingly louder. After thirty minutes I'm a little freaked out, wondering if they're arguing, and, if so, does it have anything to do with me? I'm pretty sure they're here because of Mr. Swan after the display at the funeral, but I can't figure out why the beautiful man in the uniform, Masen, looked at me the way he did.

What reason could he possibly have to be angry at me?

The anxiety from last night returns tenfold, and nerves creep into my bones. The bagel and coffee from earlier this morning feel like a ten pound ball in the pit of my stomach. _What the hell am I even doing here?_ I don't just _do _things like this. Ever. I have absolutely no idea why I ever thought it was a good idea to rock my own boat and shake up my life this way_. _My compulsive need to know the truth, even when I knew it might not be what I wanted to hear, had really put me in a uncomfortable position this time.

The door opens, breaking me from the endless cycle of questions. People begin filing out, and I look down, concentrating on a pattern in the hardwood as I try to avoid their gazes. Though I'm trying not to, I hear a sniffle that makes my heart clench and I get lost in the sounds of the goodbyes behind me, listening the hardest for a heavy echo of boots. When I hear them thumping down the stairs my shoulders slump and I relax, knowing that the scrutiny around me is now significantly lower.

Mr. Black's voice startles me and I jump. "Would you like to come into the office with me now, Bella? I think that once we begin, everything will make a whole lot more sense."

"Uh," I mumble, looking around to confirm that everyone else has disappeared. "I guess."

"Trust me," he pleads with a soft smile and holds out his hand.

"I really don't know why I'm here," I say, but he just shakes his head and turns to the side, motioning with his hand for me to go ahead of him.

He steps to my side and allows me to walk ahead of him. After a few seconds of hesitation, I step forward and walk to the door and he follows behind me.

"Please have a seat," he says as he rounds the room toward a large oak desk and takes a seat.

Shuffling forward, I lower myself into one the chairs that faces him and watch as he digs through some papers. He looks up at me and smiles.

"Now, I know it's not a requirement for this kind of thing. Honestly, it's something you usually only see in the movies, but it was a request of my client. About ten years ago – before my father passed away – he and Charlie set everything up with regards to what would happen in the event of his death and I'm required by law, as his lawyer, to follow through with them."

He taps the papers on his desk, straightening them. "I believe everything is in order—"

"Mr. Black?" I interrupt curiously. "Who were those people?"

He shakes his head, a sad smile creeping onto his face. "There were others named in the will. They were here for the same reason as you."

"But why would you..." I start.

"I thought after what you said, that this might be easier for us to speak one-on-one. Anyhow, to answer your question, those people were others close to Charlie. Sue was his girlfriend, and the two younger ones are her children."

"And the officer?" I ask, because he really is the one I'm most curious about.

"That's Officer Masen. They were all very close to Charlie," Jacob replies, but offers nothing more. I nod, biting my lip as I look down at my hands.

"Your fa— _Charlie_," he stops, and my head snaps up. My eyes narrow in question at his words; he just shakes his head slightly, and then continues, "Charlie not only had a life insurance policy, but a pension through the department."

He stares at me as if I should understand. As if this isn't new information for me.

"The beneficiary named in both documents is of course, Charlie's next of kin. In addition to these two things, there's a matter of his house here in Port Angeles, and a few other small assets. I just need some signatures and we should be able to wrap everything here up easily. I've taken the liberty of filing all necessary documents with the courts, so you shouldn't have any trouble."

My eyes widen and I just stare at him without saying a word. I don't know what _to _say. The things he's telling me are impossible. I heard his slip, and I want to tell him how wrong his is. I can't let this man give me a house and money and things that don't belong to me. Jacob watches me, sighing as he reaches up and rests his palm on his forehead. He looks confused and somewhat sad.

His mouth opens and closes and then opens again. "You really don't know do you?" he asks.

"Know what?"

"I did not want to be the one to have to tell you this, Miss Dwyer," he says. "But, _you_ are listed as Charlie's next of kin."

* * *

**So... I hope some of your questions have been answered here, and now we've met smexy Officer Masen. And Bella's world just got officially turned upside down. What comes next? Any theories? I love hearing them! **

_Thank you thank you thank you again for everyone who alerted, favorited, reviewed, and tweeted. This week, I might just come out and jump on the couch Tom Cruise style!_

**Reviewers will receive a teaser for Chapter 3! And as always, a bonus teaser will be posted on The Fictionators!**

_xx_


	3. Chapter 3

_Much love to Nicki, H, LE and Cosmo._

**No copyright infringement is intended, Stephenie Meyer owns these characters.**

**

* * *

**My toes are tingling. It's cold; so very cold.

I dance through the brushing tide seeping in and out, breaking in small waves at my feet. I'm testing, like maybe if I try a second or a third or a tenth time, it will get warmer. I'm exhilarated, and a little scared, but he's behind me. He'll make sure I'm okay; that I'm safe.

A chill slithers up my body, and afternoon sunshine kisses my shoulders. The warmth on top and the cold on bottom create the oddest sensation on my skin. Behind me, I can hear joking; playful adults speaking words that don't mean much. I can't be bothered to turn around. My mind is a whir, and my eyes are captivated. In front of me are green trees, blue waves, and snow-capped mountains off in the distance.

It's all so _pretty_.

"Are you sure she's yours, Philly?"

Laughter causes me to turn from my fascination, curious as to what fun they're having without me. I don't want to miss anything, but I don't want to leave the water yet, either. I listen harder.

"Could have been a switch at the hospital you didn't know about, little brother."

I try, but I don't recognize the person speaking. In reply, I hear my father's voice; tense and strong. He's angry.

_I can help, I always make him smile._

Sand sprays into the air as each foot kicks back and I run in his direction. I yell his name, "Daddy!" and the smile that he returns to me is the best thing in the world.

My eyes open and the memory is fresh in my brain. That August was the first time I'd ever been there. Just remembering the way the icy winter temperatures loitered in the water, even in the heat and dryness of the summer months, elicits a shiver. Whether it's from past memories, or the lingering cold of the dream, I don't know.

A family reunion brought everyone together in one place, and the memories of those few days seem so clear now. I know there's a reason for its return; I'm just not sure what that is. Looking around, I almost expect to see blinking casinos and sandcastles in the dirt. Instead, I'm met with unfamiliar surroundings and a face that's only slightly recognizable.

Jacob is hovering above me, and he looks worried. "Are you okay?" he asks, but I don't answer. I'm too busy inside my own head, trying to figure out what happened and why I'm on the floor.

And then, as I remember the last thing he said, it hits me.

_"I did not want to be the one to have to tell you this, Miss Dwyer," he says. "But, _you_ are listed as Charlie's next of kin."_

I want to laugh, to pretend that this is all some sick and twisted joke, but the memory of Tahoe comes to the forefront of my mind again. I begin to wonder if the teasing voices from my dream could have possibly held some truth; if they've been lying to me all of my life about who I really am.

"Miss Dwyer?" Jacob says again, breaking me from my reverie.

Shaking my head, I blink a few more times and then attempt to sit up. "What—" I start, and my head spins, making me feel woozy. "What happened?" I ask.

"You just fainted. Are you okay? Do I need to like, call a doctor?"

He looks so shaken, like I've just flashed him or something equally as embarrassing. I can't help it, I giggle.

"No," I reply with another shake of my head. "I think I'm alright. Can you just help me up?"

"Sure, sure," he says, holding his hand out for mine. I reach up and grip his hand, using the leverage of his body to pull myself from the floor.

"You good?" he asks. I hang on to him for a second, making sure my body is steady as I stand, and then I nod. He steps back, still staring at me warily. "Listen, I know this must be a shock, Miss Dwyer. Like I said, you... I didn't want to be the one to break this news to you."

My doubts and shock hit me all over again.

This man believes that Charles Swan is my father.

...Which means that _Charles Swan_ believed he was my father.

I want to tell him he must be mistaken, that they both had it all wrong, because that just… isn't possible.

I step back, suddenly feeling woozy. Lucky for me, the couch is there to catch my fall. Struggling to breathe, I close my eyes tight, feeling like there's a weight on my shoulders that's never been there before.

He's wrong, I repeat in my head. This is wrong. I'm sure of it.

"I don't know what information you were given," I correct him strongly. "But my father's name is Phil Dwyer."

Jacob scratches his cheek. "I don't want to argue with you, Bella. I'm just doing my job. If there's an error, I'm sure it will be worked out, but for now," he says, taking a set of keys out of his pocket and walks over to his desk. He grabs the stack of paperwork from before and places it inside a fresh manila colored envelope. "This is all yours."

He walks back in my direction, holding the keys and envelope out to me in offering. My eyes are glued to it, and I stare, but I don't lift my hand to take it. If I take that envelope, that means I'm accepting what he's told me.

And I don't accept it. I can't.

He wiggles the envelope at me again.

"This is everything you'll need: the pension paperwork, life insurance policy, deed to the house, address, and the keys. It should all be in order, and if you have any questions, you have my number."

With wide eyes, I look up at him, unsure of what to say or do. My mouth opens and closes several times, and he watches as I flounder. Still, I refuse to take the envelope, keeping my hands planted firmly against my thighs. My fingers dig into the skin, reminding me that I'm not dreaming and that this is real. And I can't help but go back to the memory – that weekend in Tahoe – and the jokes my aunt and uncle made. _Could they have been right? Could they have been trying to tell me something?_

"I'm sorry. I realize this is probably a lot to take in. How about, tomorrow morning I meet you at your hotel? We can visit the house together."

My head shakes back and forth quickly. There's no way I'm going to this man, Mr. Swan's, house. I have no reason, nor the right, to be there. Jacob sighs and watches me. I can tell I'm frustrating him, but what does he want from me? Doesn't he understand?

_What am I supposed to do?_

**x-x-x**

After saying goodbye, I somehow make my way out of Jacob Black's office. I'm not sure how he did it, but he managed to get that stupid envelope and those fricking keys into my hand. It's all so disconcerting: A house I've never seen, keys and papers to a life that isn't mine; a life that could, quite possibly, belong to a crazy man. Mr. Swan has got to be crazy, right?

How else would he have come to the conclusion that I'm his _daughter_?

For me, the only logical explanation is that he was nuts.

Inside my car, I look down at the set of keys, turning them over in my hands – gold, shiny and fresh, like they've been made just for me. It makes me wonder where _his _keys are. Were they lost, or logged into evidence, possibly? I shake my head at the strange thought, laughing at my own ridiculousness. It's not like it should matter to me what happened to his possessions.

Tossing the envelope and keys into the passenger seat, I make my way back to the inn. As soon as I can, I open my phone and dial the same number that I've been trying for days. I listen to the static as it rings, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel.

A foreign voice answers, but I cut him off. "I'm looking for Renee and Phil Dwyer," I say slowly, enunciating my syllables as if he'll understand me better that way.

"_Je suis désolé, nous n'a pas d'invité avec ce nom," _he says. It might as well be gibberish for as much of it as I comprehend.

I try to leave another message for my mom and dad, hoping it will actually get back to them before I disconnect. In anger, I toss my phone. It hits the passenger seat, bouncing on the leather and crashing to the floor with a thud. I don't care. I'm so pissed off right now that I can't even think rationally. What if I were dead? Their decision on a vacation destination was severely lacking in the responsibility department. I realize I'm not a child anymore, but right now I need them and they're unreachable. It's not _fair_.

The drive back to the hotel is filled with more questions, much the same as those that surfaced in Jacob's office. I'm not sure what the hell is going on, or what can I do to disprove this whole thing. I have no clue how to go about dispelling the claims of a ghost. II feel like I'm stuck in this weird limbo, unsure which way to go – and it's not where I want to be. I want my life back in order.

I grab my sketchbook, breathing a sigh of relief at the instant calmness its simple presence brings to me. Picking up my pencil, I drop into a chair and my hand moves in images of nothingness. The pencil seems to have this magic way of pulling thoughts from my head and putting them on paper. Soon, I'm making a list and crossing things off. I stare at what I've written: it's mostly gibberish and unconscious thoughts numbered and crossed out, but number four seems promising.

I jump up and grab my laptop from its bag. Sitting back down, I open it up and once it's connected, I immediately pull up Google. I may be alone here, but I'm not _completely_ incapable of doing something for myself. Sure, I may be used to having things done for me – my clothes, my job, my house – but this time, I don't need anyone's help.

Squaring my shoulders and putting my hands on the keys, I type in: _'How to obtain a birth certificate, Seattle'_

I was born in Seattle. It's close enough to Port Angeles that I can drive there; maybe go to the hospital, or wherever it is that one might find a birth certificate. I can end this whole thing easily. And, then, I can return home and forget this whole crazy week ever happened.

The first item in the list is for King County's website, so I click on it and begin to read. I briefly have a moment of panic when I see only options for 'ordering' a certificate, but, as I scroll further, I find what I'm looking for.

Their vital statistics office is open between eight and four on weekdays. I estimate it's about a two hour drive from where I am now, if I drive fast. My heartbeat picks up as I look over at the clock and count in my head. It's early enough. I can totally make it. Before I can think too hard, my laptop is forgotten and I'm in the car.

**x-x-x**

Seattle is way more my speed. Larger, faster, and busier – like home. I navigate the early afternoon traffic easily, listening to the British woman who instructs me to turn right on second street in one hundred yards – I've named her _Veronica_, it sounds appropriate – paying careful attention to the cars around me. I figure if she's going to annoy me, she should at least have a name. Not only that, but talking to her (okay, yelling) on this two hour drive was a lot better than letting my thoughts consume me.

At least calling her a bitch is a nice distraction.

I glance to the left and see the building I'm looking for; it's large and almost majestic looking. Above my head, a skywalk stretches to connect it to more offices. I turn into the parking garage and roll my window down to grab a ticket.

Once I'm inside, I find the elevators and press the up button. From the website, I know I've got to find room two-one-four. I glance down at my watch, hoping they haven't decided that today would be a good day to knock off early as I wait for the elevator to come. Luckily, I find the room, and it isn't empty. Inside, I find an old woman behind a glass window, looking almost as if she's asleep. The office is quiet, and it's clear that she thinks I'm akin to those people who arrive at a restaurant one minute before closing and demand a five course meal.

Smiling softly, I approach her, hoping the gesture will soften her up and encourage her to give me what I need.

"Hello," I say. "I'm trying to obtain a copy of my birth certificate."

"You know you can order those on the internet now," she says with a curl of her lip.

"I know." I reach up and tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, and then lick my lips. "It's actually kind of important, and I need it as soon as possible. I was hoping that I would be able to get a copy today."

Anxiety pushes against my chest, and I begin to freak out. _What if I can't get it today? What if I have to order it online? Shit._

Before I can freak out too badly, she pushes a form beneath her window and asks me to fill it out. I breathe a sigh of relief and move to the side to fill out the form. I take my time, making sure each box is filled in correctly. When I'm finished, I read over it before sliding it back beneath the window toward her.

She checks to make sure I haven't forgotten anything before looking back at me. "That will be thirty-two-fifty. Cash or credit?" she asks.

"Oh," I shift my purse onto the counter and pull out my wallet. "Credit, please." I hand her my card.

She turns her back on me, and after a minute or two, I hear the familiar noise of a receipt printing. She faces me again and slides the slip of paper I need to sign beneath the window.

"Please take a seat; it will be around twenty minutes."

Nodding, I turn around, taking in the brown chairs across the far wall before I walk over to sit down. I can't help the tapping of my foot as I sit there and wait. I want this proof, but I can't deny that my chest feels heavy again, like it did the other day when I heard the haunting music and the loud gunshots. I don't want to admit – not even to myself – that it almost feels like with getting the proof that I'm not Charles Swan's daughter, he'll be dying all over again. Like I'm killing him myself.

My finger finds its way into the corner of my mouth, and just when I think it may be in jeopardy from my teeth, miss Curly Lips calls my name. I stand up to walk back to her and watch as she gives her stamp of approval on the document. Then her short, stubby and wrinkled fingers push the paper toward me beneath the glass.

"Thank you," I say, grabbing the paper and holding it against my chest.

I feel dazed as I walk back to the car. The certificate is still clutched against my chest, and the truth is that I'm scared to look. I don't know if it's because looking means this will be over, or if it's because looking means this all could have just begun.

Trying to put it off, and not risk a tear filled drive back to my hotel, I decide I'll look once I get back to Port Angeles. I'll confirm what I need and then I can pack my things and go home. In the morning, I can be back in my condo where I belong, snuggled into my own bed. This whole trip will just be a memory.

**x-x-x**

The drive back from Seattle takes much longer than the drive down. Afternoon traffic crowds the highways and backroads, and my fingers tap against the steering wheel in annoyance. Every few minutes, my eyes dart to the paper. It feels like Christmas money used to feel, burning a hole in my pocket.

I want to look, but I can't. I just... can't. My hand twitches and rests against the paper once, twice, fifteen times and every time, I pull away as if having been burned by it. I can't do it.

When I finally crash back into my hotel room, I'm drained. I haven't eaten anything all day, and it feels like I've run a marathon or something equally as taxing. When, really, all I've done is sit in a car for far too many hours.

Like it's on fire, I set the paper down on the small table, wishing I would have stopped for food as I stare at it. I look around for one of those courtesy books, or something to distract me. Hoping there's at least room service in this hotel, I open drawers and look everywhere, but all I find is a copy of the King James Bible and a phonebook that's dated for two thousand and four. That won't be any help.

The ringing of my phone brings me from my search and I rush to answer without looking at the caller ID.

"Mom?" I ask as I put the phone to my ear.

"Uhm, no honey, not your mom," Rose laughs, and I deflate with a sigh and a silent curse. Rose has been my best friend for years; I love her to death, but now is _not_ a good time. She's brash and, I wouldn't call her unfeeling, but she has little patience for anyone who doesn't have their shit together. Even though I know she would be there for me whenever I need her, it would be a struggle for her to put herself out there that way.

I don't want to be a burden to anyone. I'm enough of a burden to myself.

"Where the fuck are you?"

Her question reminds me of the fact that I didn't tell a single person I was coming here. She's probably wondering where I am and why I haven't called her, but it's not like we keep tabs on each other. We live together, yes – but days pass, sometimes weeks, where we don't even talk to each other. That's just how things are. She was with Emmett on a long weekend when Jacob called, and I just didn't feel like my rash decision to come here was important enough to warrant a phone call to interrupt their time.

Wandering over, I fall into a heap on the bed and sigh. "It's a long story."

"Okay, so start at the beginning, move on to the middle… You know the drill."

"I'm in Washington."

I hear her opening and closing doors in the background, and then Emmett's laugh echoes into the phone. "What? You're kidding, right?"

Laughing humorlessly, I reply, "Nope. I've been here for a couple of days; I didn't want to disturb you."

She's quiet for a few seconds, and I know what she's thinking –I've been thinking the same thing for days now: I'm too strict in my habits for spontaneity, and my jumping on a plane based on a whim is...rash and carefree, and everything I'm not. She learned the hard way. I'll never forget the surprise road trip she sprung on me and how badly that night turned out. We ended up lost in Barstow after nearly eight hours of driving, and I finally made her turn the hell around when a homeless man tried to show me his penis.

"Okay, tell me what's going on, is everything okay?" she asks.

"You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you," I mutter and glance over at the paper on the table.

"Try me."

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. "This is crazy, but... I got a call from a lawyer earlier this week."

"Yeah, and?"

"He was calling to tell me that he was very sorry for my loss—"

She interrupts, "Who died?"

"Charles Swan."

"And who the fuck is that?" she laughs. "Some long lost relative? Please tell me he was rich and he left you a mansion or something!"

"Rose," I scold. "No he didn't leave me a mansion. He thinks— well apparently he _thought_ he was my father."

Rose laughs, a little snort escaping at the end. "No seriously, where the fuck are you, and are they medicating you heavily?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm being completely serious."

"Was this guy delusional?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say. "I can't get a hold of my mom and dad. I tried telling these people I don't know him, but they're not listening to me." She hums into the phone and I continue, "I drove to Seattle today and got a copy of my birth certificate."

"What does it say?" she demands.

I hesitate, because I know what her reaction will be. "I haven't looked at it yet," I say, closing my eyes and pulling the phone away from my ear in preparation.

"Why the fuck not?" she yells.

Biting my lip, I flinch and I open my mouth to admit for the first time why I haven't looked. "What if it's true?" I whisper.

"You'll never know if you don't look!" she huffs. "Go get the damn thing and read it!"

"But—" I try to argue, knowing it's futile. Even from another state she'll pester me until I've looked.

"Look at it, Bella." Her voice is hard, and it's what I refer to as her mom voice – she won't give up until I've looked.

Slowly, I get up from the bed and walk to the table, putting my hand on the paper. I drag it across the wood until I can wrap my fingers around the edge and then I flip it over.

Once it's face up, I look down. Closing one eye and peeking through the other – like that's gonna help – I read quickly and… this can't be. I flip the paper over, looking at the back as if it will change what's in front of me. This _can't_ be right. I don't understand…

_Name of Child: Isabella Marie Higginbotham_

_Name of Mother: Renee Marie Higginbotham_

"Rose," I whisper. My heart is beating so fast I can hear it thudding in my ears. The room starts to spin, and I'm suddenly really damn glad I didn't look at it while I was driving.

"What?" she asks, bringing me back to her. "What does it say?" I look down again at the next space, where it says 'Fathers Name' and my breath catches in my throat.

"It's blank!" I shout into the phone.

"You don't exist!" she tries to joke.

"Rosalie! Can you please be serious right now?" Tears well up in my eyes. "It's blank. Why would it be blank? None of this is right..." I wonder if that lady did this on purpose. The old one, with the curly lips and wrinkled fingers. Maybe... She could have.

"How is that even... What is going on?" I murmur to myself.

"This doesn't mean anything, Bella," Rose says, and I know she's trying to be reassuring, but it's not working.

_Like hell it doesn't. _"Yeah... you're probably right. Listen, I'm gonna go. I need to call my mom again."

"Call me back when you find out what's going on," she says firmly.

"I will, promise."

"And if you need me... I'm here, okay?"

After saying goodbye, I hang up and drop my phone to the table. I back toward the bed and sit down on the end of it with the paper still clutched in my hand, feeling numb. I was so sure. So sure this would prove what I wanted it to prove. But it didn't. Why_ isn't my dad's name listed? Why does it say our last name is Higginbotham? Is that normal? Do all birth certificates include maiden names?_

I continue staring at the words, and I'm afraid I know the answers to my own questions. But I don't want to admit them, not even to myself.

The room spins, and I'm so confused I want to cry. My head hits the pillow and I close my eyes tight, willing away the tears that threaten to fall. I just want my mother to call and fix this; I want to hear my dad's voice telling me I'm his little girl. I want to be in control again. I want to wake up and be home in my bubble, where everything is normal and nothing is different and my life doesn't feel like it's about to fall apart.

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading. I'm still overwhelmed and so very appreciative for the response you all have given me and this little story. I can't tell you how much it means to me each and every time I hear from you.**

_Bella's world has literally been flipped on it's ass, right? She's got a lot of questions that need answering. The mystery will continue next Tuesday night!_

**Reviewers will receive a teaser for Chapter 4. **

_And as always, an additional bonus teaser will be up on The Fictionators on Monday (Are you all enjoying those, by the way?)!_

**xx**


	4. Chapter 4

_Much love to Nicki, H, LE and Cosmo._

**No copyright infringement is intended, Stephenie Meyer owns these characters.**

**

* * *

**My head is pounding. I bury myself beneath two very thin hotel pillows, attempting to block out the light that's streaming through the window. It feels like the first time I've seen the sun since I got here, and of course, it has to show up today. I rub my eyes, trying to will away the pain in my head as I burrow deeper into the bed.

Rolling over with a yawn, I give up on sleep and stare at the ceiling. A crumple grabs my attention, and I reach beneath me to pull out the paper that's changed everything. I hold it out in front of me, staring at the words there, only to be reminded once again of the ones that _aren't_.

It just doesn't make sense; there's no reason why my father's name shouldn't be there. Nor is there any explanation that makes sense for the incorrect last name. The records office _had _to have screwed up – or the hospital. Obviously, someone has made a huge mistake here.

Now this man's claim – that I'm his _daughter –_ is a very real possibility that I'm not willing to accept. It looms largely in the pit of my stomach, putting a bitter taste in my mouth.

Sitting up, I look around for my phone and then grab it from the table. Searching the history, I pull up the hostel's phone number again and hit send, hoping that this time, I'll be lucky.

Static, ringing, and then, I ask again for my parents. Sadly, I'm met with a new accent and gibberish all over again, _"Ik ben droevig, mar wij hebben geen gasten met die naam."  
_  
I hang up without leaving a message.

Completely unfazed by any damage I may do, I let my phone fall from my hands to the floor. My body sags to the bed and I stare up at the ceiling once again, fighting the urge to cry in frustration. I hate it. I hate this. I shouldn't have come here; should never have opened this veritable Jack in The Box. Definitely shouldn't have turned the crank. Now he's popped up and I'm just... not ready to handle it.

And as much as I want to deny it, I know that no matter how hard I try, Jack's not going back into his little box.

But I won't cry. I have no reason to cry. No matter how much Jack stares and taunts and makes me crazy, I have to ignore it. I have no proof, and my father's name missing could be a fluke. A fluke that's only making me question things I shouldn't be questioning. Until I have proof, there's _no _reason for me to freak out like this. I don't freak out; everything in my life is orderly, structured – the way I like it. Just because I made the decision to come here so abruptly doesn't mean that anything has to – or is going to – change.

My stomach growls loudly, and I decide to pull myself from the bed for a shower. I know food will only make the knot in my belly worse, but I do need to try to eat something. After cleaning up, I stare into the drawers at my clothes. Technically, I _should_ be packing right now. I _should_ be going home today. But...

My eyes wander to the table and settle on the envelope that Jacob Black gave me yesterday.

And I know, I can't do it. I can't leave yet. _Damn you, Jack._

Once I'm dressed, I sit at the table and draw the envelope toward me. Carefully opening it, I pull everything out, spreading it in front of me.

Inside are several documents: deeds, bank information, details on insurance policies and pensions from the department. I read little bits of each one, looking for a clue. For anything. When I stumble across the papers with dollar signs and numbers, my eyes widen. The money isn't substantial, but it's still enough to surprise me. For a twenty-three year old who works in her father's construction company as a receptionist, money like this is unheard of.

And that thought reminds me of how much I dislike my job. Like a good daughter, I caved to the request of my father and went to college for a degree in business. I remember his words to me:

_"Someday, Bella, this will be yours. You have to know how to run it properly when I'm no longer able."_

How could I have said no? While it wasn't what I truly wanted for my future, sometimes obligation rules over desire. I've always been daddy's girl; some say I'm spoiled – I prefer to tell them I'm well taken care of. He only wants the best for me, and I can't be upset about that.

Shaking off the negative emotions, I begin to read through everything more thoroughly. There are lots of clauses and words I don't quite understand in the documents. And, of course, nothing helpful.

Eventually, I stumble onto the address of the house that, according to Jacob, is now technically mine. I can't help but wonder what it looks like. Then I start to wonder if going there might help me; like maybe this guy has the secrets to this mystery hidden in his closets or something.

_It's worth a shot, right?  
_  
Once again, I'm out the door without a second thought. _I really should stop doing this._ But even as I think that, I climb in my car.

After fifteen minutes of fighting with the British voice lady, _Veronica _finally tells me it's a pretty short drive from the inn. When I make a wrong turn, and she begins to recalculate for the third time, I consider tossing her out the window. _The Pacific Ocean has to be nicer than a rental car, right?_ A GPS is supposed to keep you on track, keep you from getting lost; it's not supposed to frustrate the hell out of you. I don't want to be frustrated right now, I need to be calm and I need her to stop fucking with me.

A few turns and about ten minutes later, I _finally _pull up in front of a cream colored house with brown trim. It's not new – if I had to guess, I'd say mid to late twenties – but the landscape is nice, and it definitely looks well kept. I'm a little shocked at the size of the yard. In the Bay Area, you're lucky to have room for a grill in your backyard.

The driveway at the back of the house leads up to a garage with a set of stairs. It's just gravel and dirt, no pavement. Near the garage door, there's a silver truck parked in the drive, and I wonder if this was Mr. Swan's too. _I don't remember seeing anything about it in the paperwork._ I pull my car in and sit for several minutes, just staring at the house and biting my lip. Now would be the perfect time for my parents to call, to put an end to this.

As aggravated as I am with them, I still want them to tell me that this is all crazy, and that I should go home. I stare at my purse, willing my phone to ring inside it. But, of course, it doesn't happen.

With a sigh, I force myself to get out of the car and walk to the back steps slowly, taking in my surroundings. There's a tire swing on the neighbors tree and a pair of muddy boots at the bottom of the steps leading up to the house. A dog barks in the distance and I jump, nearly missing the first step as I begin to climb.

I have no reason to be nervous, but for some reason my hands won't stop shaking. It takes me several tries to get the key in the lock at the top of the stairs. I flex my fingers, finally getting the door unlocked and push it open. Right inside appears to be a work room: fishing gear, tackle boxes and various other things are stacked against the wall, each in what I imagine are their own little spaces. It's not messy or disorderly. It reminds me a little of my own garage, and the way I have things organized so I know how to find them.

In the corner are what look like handmade wooden cabinets. I walk closer, and on the surface are brightly colored lures lined up next to each other. Grabbing one of them, I hold its weight in my hand and smile a little. I haven't been fishing since I was a teenager. My dad used to take me with him to Cull Canyon on Saturday mornings. He always got a kick out of the fact that I didn't mind touching the worms or baiting my own hooks.

I set the lure back down, careful to keep it in the same place, even though I'm not sure why. This was obviously something Mr. Swan enjoyed doing, and even if he's not here anymore, I'm sure these things were important to him. Just like in my house, where everything has its place, it would bug me if someone moved my stuff around.

With a sigh, I turn to my right and walk into the kitchen. This, too, makes me smile. I like to cook, even if I'm not very good at it. The countertops are dark and the cabinets look really fancy, like they've been painted or replaced recently. It's not the largest kitchen I've ever seen, but it's very open and feels comfortable.

I drag my fingers across the sink and stare out the window in front of me, looking at the mountains and the sea, wondering to myself what it would be like to cook here.

Not wanting to get too far inside my own head, I turn from the sink and walk through another doorway into the dining room. In one corner there are boxes of what look like shotgun shells, and gathered on the floor next to it is a variety of rags, dirty with what I imagine is gunpowder.

From here, I can see the living room. There's a large recliner in a soft brown that blends in with the worn wood floors. Against the wall opposite is a cozy looking fireplace and a couch covered in what looks like comfortable flannel pajamas.

Everything looks comfy, but the emptiness and quiet of the room is glaring. For some reason, this house cries out for people to be in it, laughing smiling and having fun.

I walk further into the room, my footsteps creaking against the floor as I trail my hand across every surface I can reach. In the hallway, the first door I see is a bathroom. It's a nice size, but very plain – no colors or anything – no sign of a woman's touch here. After taking a brief look, I close the door behind me and turn to look up at the walls. There are no pictures like those in my own house, and the place could definitely use a fresh coat of paint.

Still, there's a sense of comfort floating in the air.

A noise snaps my attention to the next doorway. My steps slow and I stop before leaning forward and peering around the frame. A squeal falls from my lips and I nearly jump out of my skin, attempting to move away with a scramble but tripping over my own feet. My heart beats out a fast paced rhythm in my chest and before I can even blink, the man I've found rounds on me.

His hand shifts to his hip briefly before shooting out in front of him. I hear the click of the safety release as my eyes settle on the barrel of a gun pointed at my head.

Instinctively, my hands rise in front of me and I scream. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Taking another step back, my body crashes into the door behind me and my palms drop, fingernails digging into the wood as I frantically search for an escape. Concentration is written across the hollow in his cheeks, and still he doesn't lower the weapon. I'm trapped.

After several seconds of no sound but our combined heavy breathing, his hand finally lowers and I hear the safety click as he moves it back into place.

With measured movements, he tucks the weapon safely into the back of his pants with one hand, while reaching up with the other to tug the earbuds from his ears.

I look at him – at his hands – and that's when it hits me. It's _him_. The man with the boots – from Jacob Black's office. _Warm, warm, warm._ He's not in his uniform today; he's dressed all casual in holey jeans and a grey hoodie. And his hair looks different, still perfect in its craziness, but lighter in the sun that streams through the window at his back.

_What's he _doing_ here?_

It's like he's moving in slow motion again, and this time I'm sure this feels like one of those moments you'd see in a movie. Only this is the scene just before someone gets accidentally killed. Thank god for small favors – he apparently doesn't have an itchy trigger finger.

My chest is rising and falling in a pace that seems to match his as he walks forward and stares at me, his eyebrows furrowed. Now that he's closer, there's a redness I can see in his eyes, from sadness or anger, I don't know.

"You do not sneak up on a cop," he spits, his nostrils flaring as his upper body lurches forward and his face is only inches away from my own. "Do you have a death wish?"

His eyes are amazingly hard. I feel like any second now, they'll turn into fire with the level of heat at which they're burning into me.

I take a deep breath, placing one hand on my chest as I try to calm the pounding of my heart. "I didn't know anyone else was here!" I screech, clearly still upset.

I feel tears well up in my eyes and he steps forward again, closer. I lower my gaze, not wanting him to see me upset. I don't know why I thought coming here was a good idea.

"Obviously," he says and I see as his hands curl into fists at his sides.

"I'm sorry, I didn't, I don't," I stammer and then let out a huge gust of air through my lips. "Shit."

He scoffs, but doesn't say anything. Turning back around, he starts slamming books into a box, like he's releasing his frustrations on their withered pages. I lift my head and look around behind him. There are boxes on the bed; books and trophies scattered across the room and floor.

"Are you just going to fucking stand there and stare at me?" he asks after a moment of silence. "I'm almost finished. Don't worry; I won't take anything you might be able to sell."

My mouth falls open and he smirks as he returns to his work.

He sets a few more books inside one of the boxes and looks back up at me. Noticing what must be a confused expression on my face, he asks, "What? I'm sure you're eager to sell this place."

My head tilts in confusion at his still hard eyes and the anger in his voice. I don't know what I did to piss him off, or how he even knows who I am, but his comment shakes me.

I don't understand what he's talking about.

"Sell this place? Why would you think—" I start, stopping when the question returns to my mind about what he's doing here. _Did he live here? Is Mr. Swan's will pushing him out of his home? Is that what all the raised voices were about in Jacob's office yesterday?_

"I'm sure you just want to get what you can out of Pops' house so you can go back to your glamorous little life," he says, dropping another stack of books into the box without looking at me.

I jump a little from the noise and shake my head. "I have no idea what you mean. I... this house doesn't belong to me," I say, but cut myself off. I shouldn't _have_ to explain myself to him.

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "It _shouldn't _belong to you, but you're wrong – it does. So just let me finish getting my things, and I'll be gone."

It bothers me that he's so angry, and I want to tell him he's wrong. Some piece of me that's been so aggravated and confused for the last few days wants to shout that I never wanted this, but my stubborn side kicks in. I stare at him, narrowing my eyes as I cross my arms over my chest. Arguing with him will get me nowhere, and it's clear he's got some kind of problem with me that isn't going to be solved any time soon. So, I shrug and turn away from him, walking back down the hall. I still don't understand what he's doing here, or who 'Pops' is, but I don't want to ask him now. Apparently, he finds it completely necessary to be a total jerk to me.

He is right about one thing: none of this should be mine.

I shouldn't even be here.

Walking back into the living room with the intention of escaping as quickly as possible, I take a quick look around at everything, hoping something will jump out at me. With one last glance around the room, I turn to go before I have to face him again.

Instead, my eyes are drawn to the fireplace. Without thinking, I walk over to it. There are several picture frames on top of the mantle. I look over my shoulder and sigh, not wanting to be caught by Officer Masen, and then move my face in close to inspect them.

The first frame I see could use a serious dusting, and behind the glass is a picture of a man who I assume must be Mr. Swan. He has scruffy brown hair that curls around his ears and a friendly looking mustache. He's wearing his uniform and a huge smile. At his side, there's a blond man, with clear skin and bright blue-green eyes. Their arms are slung around each other, and they look so young and carefree.

I peek behind me once more, because it's quiet and I don't need another surprise today. Turning back around, I move my eyes, and the next frame makes my breath catch in my throat.

It's _me_.

It's me on my graduation day from UC. _How did he even..._

My eyes are transfixed as I grab the frame and stare at my own face. I'm all smiles and sunshine as I accept my diploma from the Dean. I frown. I was so sad on that day, but looking at my own smile reflected back at me, I know how good I am at putting on a brave face. That day was the final step in leading me to a life I didn't really care to have, but felt powerless to escape.

"Where did this..." I whisper to myself.

"He was there," I hear from behind me and I jump. Turning slowly, I look up at Officer Masen and I hope he can read the utter confusion on my face. He has one of the boxes in his hands and still looks angry. I'm tempted to ask him if his mother ever taught him that whole thing about your face sticking that way if you kept at it for too long, but he obviously knows things I don't. Things I need to know...

"Why?" I question, looking back down at the photograph. My chest feels tight and my fingers tremble.

I see him shrug from the corner of my eyes and after a minute, he speaks, "Maybe you should have come here sooner if you really wanted to know that."

My mouth falls open and I grip the picture tighter in my fingers; I want to throw it at him. I don't say anything to his shitty comment. I look up at him slowly, off put when his angry eyes stare into me. Through me.

"You have his eyes you know." My mouth opens in shock, wondering why he would say something like that. There's a look in his eyes that feels teasing and mean.

I don't say anything, just shake my head in denial. He has no idea what he's talking about. I don't know why these people seem to think they know things I don't. I don't know why even Officer Masen seems to believe I'm this man's daughter.

It's not true. It _can't_ be true.

I _don't_ have Charles Swan's eyes.

_I have my father's eyes. _

Phil Dwyer_._

_My father._

Tears stream down my cheeks and the glass in the frame shatters to pieces as I throw it to the floor in anger. Pain. Hurt. Confusion. Breathing heavily, I stare at the broken glass and my smiling face, and then look back up at Officer Masen. His eyes are on the floor, on the broken glass, lips pursed and confusion written across his brow.

I take a few steps, and his eyes rise to mine. With one last look at his shocked expression, I run from the house. I have to get away.

* * *

**Still no sign of Renee or Phil... and now Bella's been introduced to Officer Masen – well, to his weapon at least... And how the heck did Charlie get a picture of her? What do you think comes next? Will she lie down and let this bring her down, or will she go back to see Mr. Masen again?**

**Find out next Tuesday night. :)**

_Thank you again to those of you reading, reviewing and chatting – I'm convinced I have the best readers in the fandom._

**Review for a little sneak peek at Chapter 5, and tune into Fictionators on Monday for another clue to this crazy tale.**

_xx_


	5. Chapter 5

_Much love to Nicki, H, LE and Cosmo._

**No copyright infringement is intended, Stephenie Meyer owns these characters.**

**

* * *

**

With no thoughts in my head save for getting as far away as I can, I navigate my car up one street and down the next, blatantly ignoring _Veronica_. I don't need her to tell me I'm driving in circles: I already know.

My entire life is starting to feel like one gigantic circle. Wake up confused, make endless calls to my parents that will go unreturned, find more answers than I know what to do with, and then go to sleep more bewildered than I started. It's a never-ending cycle.

It doesn't take long for me to become frustrated. This town is too small, cage-like, and I'm beginning to feel closed in—a mouse on a wheel going nowhere. My hands itch toward the navigation system, and I have to stop myself from turning tail and heading back to California. There are answers I need before I go.

No matter how many times I drive past the same landmarks – Clallam County Courthouse, Webster Park, Olympic Memorial Hospital – I can't stop myself from thinking. There are too many questions in my head, and no matter how hard I try, I keep coming back to the same one. The _biggest_ one:

_Is it true?  
_  
No, I tell myself sternly, how the hell _could_ it be? My parents wouldn't do this to me. They wouldn't. It's just not possible. I'm their little girl, their only child, and they've provided for me my entire life, always making sure I was happy and well-taken care of.

_But why the _hell_ is there a picture of me in Charles Swan's house? _

My hands clench tightly around the steering wheel, my grip hiding the shake I can feel inside. Like someone's pushing on my chest, it's hard to breathe; my breath escapes in anxious little puffs as if it's being stolen from my lungs.

Officer Masen's face pops into my mind. That surprised look in his eyes, the way his mouth hung open in shock before I stormed out. Up until that very second he'd been so antagonistic to me, so cold. I don't understand what changed, and, for the life of me, I still can't figure out what he was doing there. Strangely, I wonder what he must think of me now; this crazy, compulsive girl, who shows up out of nowhere.

I don't know what possessed me to go there, why I thought being in Charles Swan's home could possibly help. All it's done is make things _worse_.

I can't stop myself from asking what this man, Officer Masen, _does_ know. Above all, I want to know _how_ he knows...whatever it is that he's privy to that I am not.

The more time that passes, and the more I think about all of this, the more I begin to doubt. With each mile added to my rental car, I start to question the parents I've known my entire life. If that picture in Charles Swan's house means what I think it means, then my parents have lied to me for my entire life.

_If _he's my father; if he _was_ my father, then what?

A part of me is so scared that this is true. I don't understand why my parents, the people I have looked up to and done my best to make them proud of me for as long as I've can remember, would keep such a thing from me. There's absolutely no point in them having lied to me for so long.

I just want things to be _normal_ again.

I don't want to feel this bubble of emotion that's bouncing between anger, fear and confusion. I want my normal, easy life back, where I work at a job I don't like and go out with my Rose and Emmett on the occasional weekends.

I don't want this loneliness and loss that exists in my chest to stay there.

Normal isn't feeling like I've been robbed. Because, if it is indeed true, I've been robbed of a parent and another life that I never even knew existed. By my parents, by Charles Swan, by anyone who might have worked to keep this from me.

I don't want to feel this anger at people I love; it's not fair to me. I want my bubble back.

Perhaps the most depressing thing about this entire situation is that, if this is true, from this day forward there's no way to get back my former peace of mind. Ever.

No matter how hard I try, I won't be able to go back to my former sheltered life, or pretending that I prefer having decisions made for me. I won't be able to smile and exist inside that same bubble, because everything will be different. Deep down, I don't know that I'll ever be able to forgive them for this.

As afternoon gloom turns to twilight, I fight against the fatigue in my body for a few more streets before finally succumbing and returning to my hotel room. There really is nowhere else for me to go, and certainly nobody for me to talk to.

Inside, I fall into the bed, not even bothering to change my clothes or check my phone. If my parents _have _finally found the time to return my calls, I'm not totally sure I even want to speak to them anymore. The truth is I'm not sure I ever want to talk to them again.

Let them see how it feels, this not knowing. I could be dead, or hurt, and they would have been none the wiser. They've had a week to check in with me; I've made more than a dozen calls that they've paid no attention to. If they cared, they would have kept in regular contact.

My sketchbook lays open on the table at my side, the blank page staring at me, begging me to put something there. Anything.

But I can't, and I hate it. All of this has not only sent my mind into this whirlwind of questions, my body into emotions I didn't know existed, but has also stifled the one thing I can normally draw comfort from.

My eyes close and, in defeat, my body succumbs to sleep.

The next day passes in a blur. I lay in bed, unable to find the will to shower; to even leave my hotel. I just can't bring myself to face anyone or anything. Instead, I wallow in greasy delivery pizza, soda, and chocolate from the inn's vending machine, using food as a way to keep the growing depression at bay as I contemplate what the fuck to do next.

All day, I go around and around and, in the end, I find I _do_ have options.

As much as I don't want to, and this thought makes my stomach knot in ways both painful and foreign to me, I can go home. I can pretend none of this happened and continue my life blissfully oblivious to the possible truth. I try to ignore the fact that I hate what I'm destined to become by returning there. I can force myself to ignore the pangs of hatred and the dislike for all things construction – I've done it before. I can immerse myself, pretend the bubble didn't pop and just return to a life that, without much help from me, is designed to be perfect.

Somehow, though, this feels like giving in.

On the other hand, I can stay here until I find out the truth – if there _is_ a truth to be found. Even if I stay, though, I'm not sure there's a point. Being here won't really do anything for me. If there were answers to be found, it's not like there's anyone left that can help me figure them out.

…Or maybe there is.

Heavy boots and fingers and perfectly messy hair. _Warm, warm, warm..._

Officer Masen.

That's a problem, though – he's a problem – because the few interactions we've shared haven't been pleasant. Besides, I'm pretty sure he hates me...or that after my behavior on Saturday, he thinks I'm crazy. Not to mention the fact that his fingers have starred in my dreams, and the very thought of him still makes me warm. There's also the fact that he scares the shit out of me.

_You have his eyes you know._

His words echo through the confusing mass of questions and doubts my brain has become, and they're at once soothing, yet even more panic-inducing. It's obvious he clearly knows _something_; something I don't. I sigh, straightening my shoulders and staring out the window.

I came here for a reason that's bigger than him or anything he might think of me: for answers.

I won't leave without them.

**x-x-x**

Today is a new day, and I feel good about the decision that I came to last night. Even though the unknown it scares me, I force myself to get up, to take the next step.

I never planned to be here for more than a few days, and I'm running out of clean clothes. I'll need to go to a Laundromat, or shop before long. I highly doubt the citizens of Port Angeles will want to see me walking around in dirty clothes or my underwear. Clean underwear seems to be the only thing I have an overabundance of. I don't know what it is, but for some reason – whether I know I'm going to be gone for two days or two months– it never fails that I stuff every pair of clean underwear I can find into my suitcase before a trip. Always be prepared, right?

I laugh at myself a little, thankful for the smile my own quirkiness brings to my face as I walk into the bathroom to shower. It's been too long since I've smiled.

One of the guys at the front desk recommended a restaurant when I checked in last week: First Street Haven. Instead of driving, I decide to walk. Outside, sun streams through the clouds and I relish the warmth as it settles on my face. The trip doesn't take long, and I peer inside shop windows as I make my way down First Street thinking about what I'm going to do. I may have made the decision, but now I need a chance to talk to Officer Masen again.

The only thing is, I'm not sure how to do that.

I approach the restaurant and look inside. It looks homey; the people beyond the glass seem happy. With a deep breath, I pull open the door and cross over the threshold. Food first, and then I can focus on what needs to be done. Inside is busy, loud with the murmurs of multiple conversations. An older woman behind the counter smiles and instructs me to have a seat wherever I'd like. She even calls me sugar.

Looking around, I bite my lip. Space in here is limited. Like, really limited. I'd prefer a table in the back, somewhere where I won't be bothered, but it looks like I may not have that choice. Walking between tables to sit at the counter, I freeze when I spot a familiar head of auburn colored hair from the corner of my eye.

He's facing away from me, bent over a newspaper, but I know it's him. In his right hand he holds a cup of coffee up from the table. For some reason, I smile again; his mug is almost animated, like it's prepared to offer him a drink whenever his newspaper becomes less interesting.

My breath catches in my throat and I look down at the floor; at the boots. My heartbeat picks up and I have to take in another deep breath. Now's as good a time as any for this…

I step forward in the direction of his table and take the seat across from him like it's no big deal. I'm sure after my behavior the other day (and now this) he's definitely going to think I've got some kind of mental problem.

The newspaper lowers slowly and I place my hands on top of the table, locking my fingers together. I bite my lip, trying to look apologetic as his eyes narrow. The skin around his eyes crinkles, and I'm drawn to the sight.

He looks tired, but his uniform is just as crisp as it was the first time we saw each other. I wonder if he's just ended his shift or if it's just beginning. I almost ask if he's having as much trouble sleeping as I am, but I doubt that would go over well.

"So um," I start and then stop to clear my throat. "Do you mind if I sit?"

He smirks. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes become more pronounced before his eyes soften. "If I said yes, would you get up?"

"No, probably not."

He huffs. "Well then," he lifts the newspaper back in front of his face and his reply is muffled, "by all means."

I scowl, momentarily considering the possibility of reaching up to flick the newspaper just to piss him off. I decide against it as the same older woman who waved me inside comes to the table. She puts her hand on Officer Masen's shoulder and leans forward. She pours coffee into his mug and then silently holds the fresh pot above my own empty mug, asking if I'd like any. I nod and she smiles while she pours a second cup.

"Now, Edward, who is this pretty young thing? Are you steppin' out on me, honey?" she asks with a grin, her eyes darting between the two of us.

_Edward. Huh, I never would have guessed that.  
_  
He lowers the newspaper and glances at me out of the corner of his eye before answering, "Of course not, Mrs. Cope, you know you're my only girl." His lips quirk into a smile that I can only describe as dazzling. It really isn't fair for a man to be this pretty.

I can't help noticing that he's avoided her question, which makes me begin to question my decision. _What if he _doesn't_ know anything?  
_  
She laughs and ruffles his hair before turning her eyes back to me. "What can I get for you, sweet thing?"

"Uh," I say, glancing around the table awkwardly. "I haven't actually had a chance to look at the menu yet. What would you recommend?"

"The pancakes," Officer Masen interrupts and I look at him, watching his lips as they form his next words. "She'll have the pancakes."

Mrs. Cope smiles at him and doesn't wait for my confirmation before walking away from the table.

Needing to deflect from the flutter his pretty face puts in my belly, I arch and eyebrow and ask, "What if I was deathly allergic to buttermilk?"

"That would really suck for you." He lifts the paper back in front of his face and shakes it a little.

I huff, and I really want to flick it again. Or maybe scream. At this point, I'd do anything to make him talk. Make him listen.

"So, Edward, huh?" I ask, reaching out and grabbing an empty sugar packet he's left on the table.

He doesn't answer and the newspaper ruffles as he switches pages.

"Wow," I say, fully cognizant that I'm holding a conversation with myself, further confirming that I am, in fact, a little bit crazy. "That's a nice name. Is that a family name? It's not? Oh," I exaggerate dramatically and continue to babble to nobody but myself. "So, you're a cop, huh? How long? Wow, that's very interesting!"

Finally, he lowers the newspaper and stares at me with hard eyes. He is definitely _not_ amused. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to start a conversation with you."

"Why?"

I shrug, and fear pokes me in the chest. I pick up my coffee and take a sip before I reply, "Why not?"

"Do you always answer a question with a question?" He calmly folds the newspaper, but the fire in his eyes gives away the fact that he's anything but calm.

Once again, I feel like I could burst into flames.

Still avoiding, I shrug. "I don't know. Do you?" I ask with a grin, trying to soften the moment.

He leans over, reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He opens it up and grabs a twenty dollar bill and tosses it on the table.

"Enjoy your pancakes." He stands up and goes for his hat and, before I can stop him, he walks to the door. Just like that, he's gone.

"Damnit," I mutter under my breath, just as Mrs. Cope walks to my table and drops off a plate of fluffy pancakes. They look delicious.

"Syrup, dear?" she asks.

"No thanks, just butter for me," I say with a smile as she tops off my cup of coffee. I eat the pancakes, and damnit, they're really good. After all that, would it be wrong of me to hope he ordered me the worst thing on the menu?

My fork stabs into the fluffy goodness harder with each bite. I'm angry at him, with his stupid crinkly eyes and crabby-ass attitude. I can't believe he just got up and left before I could get over my own shit and ask the questions that have been driving me insane for days. Hell, he didn't even let me prove to him that I'm _really _not crazy. Well, not technically, anyway.

This won't work if he's not willing to help me, and I something tells me I really need him to help me.

I finish my pancakes and leave an additional ten dollars on the table before heading back outside. My walk back to the inn takes much longer because I'm wasting time. With a hard laugh, I realize I'm going in circles – _again_. My thoughts are now tangled up in how I can get Officer Masen – _Edward_ – on my side.

In desperation, I go straight to my rental car once I'm back at the hotel. I make the now familiar route to Mr. Swan's house, rounding the final corner... and I hope. _Please, please let there be silver truck in the driveway._

I blow out a frustrated sigh when I arrive and it's empty. I drive back and forth, passing the house – staring, and wondering if I can work up the nerve to go inside again. Maybe I _don't_ need him. Maybe there _is_ something here that I missed…

After fifteen minutes of this, I see a neighbor on her porch watching me curiously and decide it's time to get over it and just go in.

I open the door, and for some reason it's like I can feel the quiet seep into my skin. The creaking floors and sounds of the house settling make me jumpy. In the kitchen, I lean on the counter, staring out the window as I take a few minutes to calm myself.

The most interesting thing I find in the kitchen is a three month old electric bill, and even that's not all that interesting. Nobody really keeps anything _important _in their kitchen, so I wander further into the living room. My eyes stare at the floor, where broken glass should be. It's been cleaned, and the picture of me is gone. I can't help but wonder if he threw it away.

Walking to the mantle curiously, I look over the other photos, afraid to admit that I'm looking for more of me.

There are more pictures of Mr. Swan, but there's someone else besides him in these shots. He stands with a slightly younger version of Officer Masen – Edward – at his side. Both are smiling, dressed in their uniforms with their arms around one another.

I frown, unable to stop myself from imagining what kind of man Charles was and what I might have missed out on.

My eyes remain on the picture, studying. That's when I'm reminded of the article I read a few days ago.

_...Police Chief Charles Swan was a twenty year veteran of the department and leaves behind an adopted son..._

It hits me all at once. The reason Officer Masen was in this house. The reason he acts like he knows who I am. The reason he knows things about what Mr. Swan did.

I feel stupid for not having seen it sooner.

He's Charles Swan's _real_ next of kin.

* * *

_Yes, Bella's a little slow on the uptake... but now that she's beginning to figure things out... who know's what'll happen. :)_

**I did an interview with belladonna1472 (author of The Cullen Campaign) this week for the Peas & Carrots Blog! Check it out via the link on my profile if you'd like to get some insight into what goes into writing INK.**

_I'm still a flabbergasted mess at the lovely words you leave for me and this story every week. I can't tell you how appreciative I am for the feedback, the love… just, everything. It means more to me than I can even say. Thank you._

**You know what to do and you know what you'll get in return! Leave some love.  
**_Bonus Teaser will be up on Fictionators on Monday._

_xx_


	6. Chapter 6

_Much love to Nicki, H, LE and Cosmo. They put up with my crazy and deal with me when I make last minute changes and then whine about them._

**No copyright infringement is intended, Stephenie Meyer owns these characters.**

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**The next morning, after a sleepless night spent going over my realization about Edward and Mr. Swan, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I feel like I should do _something_ with this new piece of the puzzle, but I'm not sure exactly what the best course of action is.

After I shower and dress, I sit on the bed, staring at the blank television and contemplating. I could take a chance that he'll be there again, having breakfast, but I don't want to push my luck with him. I know now what it is he's been through: he didn't just lose someone close to him – he lost his _father_. It certainly can't help that there's this annoying girl in town breathing down his neck for information he may or may not have. Especially when added to that pain.

However, it's clear he knows who I am, so that must mean he knows why I'm here. I'm hoping that it's enough. Even though I know he's dealing with things of his own, right now I can't afford to sit around and wait. I _need_ him to help me.

Outside, the wind blows across my face as I make my way down First Street with determination. I don't even peer in the shop windows today, I'm too focused. If I have to make a scene to get him to talk to me, I'm prepared to do it. I _will_ get answers today.

When I get to the restaurant I don't hesitate before going inside to search for him. To my benefit – or maybe my detriment – he's here.

I smile softly at Mrs. Cope and offer a little wave as I walk over in his direction. She smiles back, and the look on her wrinkled face is a little conspiratorial, like she knows what I'm doing. What's more heartening is that I'm pretty sure she's encouraging me to continue.

With a deep breath, I pull out the chair across from him loudly, announcing my arrival. I plop into it and look across the table at him. "Good morning," I say, offering a smile.

His uniform is crisp and fresh and creased in all the right places. The short sleeves he's chosen for today show off his arms. He's toned, but not overly so; just enough definition to know there's power under his pale skin. He doesn't have the newspaper in front of him today, but I notice that it's on the table. I figure I must have gotten to him before he could finish his breakfast and move on to coffee and the news.

He doesn't say anything in return, just stares at me in question. He's got a pair of what I like to call 'cop glasses' in his breast pocket that I've never noticed before. I have to wonder what he might look like wearing them. I fight to hold in a giggle when a picture of him on the street with a cheesy grin, standing next to _Ponch,_ pops into my head.

And then I wonder if he drives a motorcycle...

Obviously having had enough of the quiet, he lifts his eyebrows, as if asking me why I'm here again. My eyes are drawn to the movement of his jaw as he takes a bite of his breakfast and chews slowly, and I watch as the lightest parts of his scruff catch in the light shining through the windows. His jaw looks like it's sparkling.

Grabbing one of his empty sugar packets off the table, I turn it over in my fingers. "You know who I am," I say.

It's not a question; I need to know what he knows and how he knows it. It's better for us both if I don't beat around the bush.

He picks up his napkin and wipes his mouth. "Yes, Isabella." My eyes settle on his and I can't help but smile; I like the way he says my name. "I know who you are."

"How?"

"How what?" he asks, playing stupid.

"Okay, we had the whole answering-a-question-with-a-question argument yesterday. Can we not do this?" I ask.

He huffs and takes another bite of his pancake.

"How do you know who I am?" I say slowly. I'm already starting to get annoyed and I don't want to be; I want this to be easy.

He makes a sound deep in his throat, full of frustration. "Why are you even _here_?" he asks me.

"For breakfast," I say, trying not to be annoyed with the fact that he's just asked another question to avoid me... again.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he replies, giving me the fire stare again.

"I need your help," I whisper weakly, my annoyance at his deflection draining.

He doesn't seem to hear me as he continues speaking, "What, now that there's money and a house for you, you're suddenly interested? You didn't give a shit when he was alive."

I should be hurt by this, that he's made assumptions when he knows nothing about me, but I'm not. I'm angry.

My hand slaps the table in front of me to get his attention and I glare at him. "You don't even know me!"

"I know more than you think," he says.

"Okay then, would you mind sharing that with me? Because I really have no idea what's going on."

"Why should I help you? You had your chance and you blew it. You had more than ten years' worth of chances. You don't belong here."

I want to tell him he's right – I _don't _belong here. I belong in California, where my life made sense. I belong in my bubble where things were normal. But that's changed now, and I _am_ here.

Again, my mouth won't give him the satisfaction of being right, and angry words are tumbling into the space between us before I can stop them.

"You have _no _idea what you're talking about!" I slap the table again, harder this time.

He narrows his eyes before looking around. I've definitely drawn attention to us and I'm pretty sure he doesn't like it. "Keep your voice down," he hisses.

"I'll raise my voice whenever I need to, _Edward_," I reply. "It's clear you have _no_ idea what I've been through in the past week, so let me enlighten you—"

"No," he says angrily, cutting me off. His voice is strained in a way I haven't heard before when he continues, "Let me tell you what_ I've _been through in the past week. I had to bury the man who raised me after watching him get _shot_ and _die_ in a hospital room. Then, I had to stand by and watch his daughter – who wanted nothing to do with him when he was alive – saunter into town and act like she has a fucking _right_ to be here."

He's breathing heavy and his eyes have narrowed into thin slits. Beneath that, though, I can clearly see sadness.

I shake my head and sigh, feeling bad for pushing him to this point. I want to set him straight, to improve his opinion of me somehow, but I don't know how to do that.

Mrs. Cope chooses that moment to come to the table wearing a smile. She clearly has no idea what she's just walked in on.

"Kids? Is there a problem here?" she asks.

My eyes turn to her, and then back to Edward. Before I can speak, he stands up and I watch him pull out his wallet.

"Nope," Edward says, not looking at me. "No problem at all." He drops a twenty on the table. "Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Cope."

He offers her a dazzling smile and, without another word, turns around and begins to walk out of the restaurant.

My mouth falls open in surprise, and I huff. My fist bangs against the table in frustration. If he wants to be angry at me – well then, fine, but he needs to be set straight. I can't let him get away this time.

I stand up and scramble after him out the door, careful not to trip. "We weren't finished!" I shout once I'm outside.

He stops. I watch as his shoulders rise and fall and he sighs. His head moves in several directions, like he's searching for something. Maybe an escape.

"Yes we were," he replies without turning around. Even though I can't see him, I can hear the tightness of his words.

Ignoring him, I start speaking, "Last week, I got a call out of the blue from Jacob Black saying that he's sorry for my loss. And you know what? I freaked out, because I didn't know Jacob Black and I was pretty sure I didn't know anyone who died. At least I didn't _think_ I knew anyone that died. Then he tells me the man's name. And do you know what?"

"What?" He turns around slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. He's wearing the sunglasses, but I can see from the clench in his jaw and the strain in the muscles of his forearms that he's clearly still angry.

"I didn't know it!" I shout, feeling tears prick at the back of my eyes. "I didn't _know_ his name."

He's quiet for a minute, staring at me like he's trying to figure out if I'm telling the truth. "That's impossible," he scoffs.

"What reason do I have to lie to you?" I ask desperately. My voice feels shaky and so does everything else. I don't want him to see me so desperate, but what other choice do I have?

"I can think of a few."

Huffing, I throw my hands into the air in frustration. I'm tempted to stomp my foot and whine, but I fight the urge. I won't get anywhere with him if I act like a spoiled brat, but I wish he would stop being so... combative.

All I want is a little help, someone to talk to that knows what's going on.

"That was the _first _time I'd ever heard the name Charles Swan," I choke out. "So please spare me your holier-than-thou bullshit and either help me, by telling me how you know who I am, or..." I stop, because right now I really want to tell him to fuck off, but I don't have the resolve to get the words out.

My shoulders slump and I close my eyes tightly, fighting against the frustrated tears begging to be set free. I won't cry in front of him. I can't. I don't want him to help me just because I can't hold myself together. I don't want him to offer me his help out of pity. I don't deserve it, and I don't need it. But, I can't control my own emotions, and there's nothing I can do to stop the tears.

"Fuck," I hear him mutter. "Don't— _shit_, please don't cry," he says. His voice is much softer, like a touch of velvet across my skin.

I look up at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. He reaches up with his other hand and pulls the sunglasses from his eyes.

"Look, I have to go, I— I have to go."

I don't say anything, just stare at him. He watches me too, his eyes roving my face like he's taking a mental picture of everything. I angrily reach up and wipe at the traitorous tear I feel escape one of my eyes and his lips purse.

"Can you meet me here tomorrow morning?" he asks softly.

"That depends," I reply, wiping at my cheek again. "Are you going to help me?"

He stares at me for a minute, quietly considering my request. I can almost see the thoughts in his mind reflected in his expressions. When he finally responds, there's no fire in his eyes at all.

"Yes."

**x-x-x**

Mrs. Cope smiles at me and waves with her wrinkled fingers as I drop my bag to the floor and take a seat. I wave back before looking shyly at Edward. I'm not sure why I feel uncomfortable _now_, after what happened yesterday... this should be easier. But it's not. He watches me over his coffee cup as I sit and pull my chair in.

While he busies himself setting down his mug, I take a chance to take him in. He's not in uniform today (which I'm kind of disappointed about) and across his chest the letters P.A.P.D. are displayed on what looks like a very comfortable and pretty well-worn dark blue hoodie.

When I look up from my inspection, he's watching me closely, like he too was taking some kind of inventory. Blushing, I mumble a soft good morning to him and bite my lip.

"Morning," he replies, sipping his coffee again.

I smile and wait for him to say something else. He asked me to meet him, and I want to let him lead. Though I was determined before, he's agreed to help and I still don't want to push. I've learned my lesson about that.

"Are you hungry?" he asks in a tired voice, and I nod. He lifts his hand to flag down Mrs. Cope. I can't help but wonder why he looks so tired. If maybe he's having the same problem as me when it comes to shutting down my brain at night.

In less than a minute, Mrs. Cope is at our table and smiling at him before she turns her eyes to me. "What can I get for you, honey?"

"Pancakes?" I ask sheepishly.

"Coming right up," she says before disappearing.

Silence returns, and there's tension at the table; I can feel it bouncing between us like a game of ping-pong. I'm sure he's feeling just like me and isn't sure where to start this conversation. I lean over and dig into my bag, grabbing my favorite pencil and turning it over in my fingers. It's comforting, something to keep my hands busy and keep me distracted, because I'm still not sure how this will go.

"What's that?" he asks.

"Just a pencil," I say, shrugging. He nods and sips his coffee.

It gets quiet again, and I can barely stand it. My eyes travel the restaurant, and before I know it my hand moves of its own accord, using the pencil to sketch doodles on the white paper place-mat in front of me.

I hear Edward chuckle under his breath and look up, embarrassed that something so intrinsically grained into me has seeped out in front of him. Though I wanted it in my hand for comfort, in case I needed it, I really didn't plan on using it. My art isn't something I share with a lot of people; especially not strangers.

He tries to peek around my hand, and I quickly use it to cover what I know is the beginning of his jaw, and the way it curves at just the perfect angle.

When he sees me cover the markings, Edward narrows his eyes at me and shakes his head a little. There's a small half-smile on his lips, and I'm a little shy to admit something so personal to him, but for some reason, I do.

"I, um... I like to draw."

The crinkles around his eyes are prominent when he replies, "Of course you do..." The words are so quiet, I almost don't hear him.

I cock my head to the side and look at him quizzically. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He stares at me for a moment and there's a lightness in his eyes that, before now, I haven't seen. "You don't just look like Pops; apparently you act like him, too."

"Pops?" I question, curious at the nickname. Even though I'm sure I know the answer already, I want to hear him say it.

"Charlie," he replies and clears his throat. "I didn't… feel comfortable calling him that, and he yelled at me when I tried to call him Mr. Swan. So we compromised." He shrugs and looks away.

I smile at him, curious again as to how he ended up living with Mr. Swan, but I don't want to push the boundaries too much, too fast. I'm just happy to get this small piece from him. In time, maybe I can get more.

"He, uh... did this, too?"

Edward nods. "He was always doodling on important documents and shit at the station. He constantly had to use white-out—" He stops suddenly and the grin fades from his face. I wait for him to go on, but after a little bit, it's clear that line of discussion is over. And I get it: it's personal. Things like this must be hard for him to share. Especially when everything's so fresh.

He sips his coffee again and I watch the movement of his Adam's apple as he swallows and closes his eyes. Suddenly, there's a soft smile on his lips, like he's recalling a fond memory. I like that smile. I like seeing him unguarded and free instead of angry and upset.

I want to reach across the table and squeeze his hand, because I should feel sorrier for him. He's just lost someone very close to him, and if he's adopted, it's probably not the first time he's had to say goodbye like this.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, though I'm not sure exactly what I'm sorry for. I'm sorry for lots of things.

He watches me for a second, and then his expression clears and he gets serious. "Listen," he says, stopping when Mrs. Cope comes to the table to fill my coffee cup and drop off my pancakes.

"Thank you," I tell her and turn my eyes back to him.

"I have no idea how to do this," he admits.

I laugh a little. "I don't either."

"Did you really mean it?"

"Mean what?" I ask.

"What you said yesterday, that you'd never heard his name before?"

Nodding, I bite my lip, lifting my hand and pressing my pencil back into the place-mat as I peek up at him from beneath my lashes.

"Yes."

He blows out a heavy breath. "She didn't tell you."

"She?"

"Renee," he offers, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. My eyes widen and I gasp, staring at him for more information.

"How do you know my mom's name?" I ask, shocked, though I probably shouldn't be. He knew my name. He knew who _I _was...

I don't quite know what else to say or do. This whole thing just became a whole lot more real, and while I want him to answer, I'm also afraid to hear whatever he might say.

He shakes his head and mutters under his breath, "She _promised_ him." My eyes fill with tears and after noticing my reaction, he hurries his next words out, "She promised him she would tell you," he says, running his fingers through his hair. "I was there when—"

"You were where?" I spit out, interrupting him as I reach up to angrily wipe at a tear on my cheek.

He looks at me like I'm a petulant child and shakes his head. "Stop that, I'm trying to tell you."

"Sorry," I mumble.

"You eat." He points to my pancakes. "I'll talk."

He sips his coffee while I spread a generous layer of butter on my breakfast, using what little concentration it takes to keep myself from falling apart.

Once they're perfect, I take a bite and he sets his mug down before taking a deep breath.

"Do you remember when you were about seven or eight, coming to Seattle with your mom?"

Chewing slowly, I try to recall what he's talking about. I do remember coming to Washington when I was little. My dad had a business trip in the city and we visited the Space Needle while he worked.

"Vaguely," I say, struggling for details I may have missed when I was a child. I haven't thought of that trip in a really long time. Still, I'm not sure what it has to do with anything, so I stare at him and wait for more clues.

"We were there." He shrugs and sips his coffee again.

"Who?"

He narrows his eyes at my interruption and then continues, "It was right after— anyway, Charlie saw your mom… and you. And I don't know much else. I was only about ten at the time. I only heard a lot of the details recently."

"How recently?" I ask desperately, swallowing a bite of food that feels like lead in my throat.

"Umm, before he went to California to see you graduate."

My eyes close, and I hear him sigh as his fingers tap on the table. Though I want to ask more, the truth is that I'm still struggling with all of this; especially the fact that this man came to see me. That he came all that way, but didn't even try to talk to me. Why make that kind of effort and then… not follow through? Not only that, but it's clear he's talked about me – about my mother, about all of this – with Edward. So why, if he had the chance, wouldn't he have just spoken to me before it was too late?

He's quiet, watching me carefully as I process through what he's said. I hate the silence; I want him to tell me more. I want him to keep talking.

I sigh, fighting off the urge to scream in frustration before I take advantage of the fact that he's been open to sharing things with me so far. Instead I ask another question. "Why _did_ he come?"

"I don't know."

"I mean, why would he come and not even try to talk to me!"

Edward still doesn't say anything, just continues to stare at me.

"Why didn't my mother tell me any of this?" I'm not sure why I'm asking him this, when I know he doesn't have an answer.

He waits, watching as I have my little freak out, and then he says, "I can't answer those questions, Isabella."

"Didn't he tell you any of this?"

He sighs and stares at me before shaking his head back and forth. I can see pity in his eyes.

My head drops and I stare at my lap, fighting the urge to shed more tears. I hate that I can't get a handle on my emotions lately.

Edward clears his throat, and his voice is soft – almost reassuring – when he speaks, "I'm sorry I can't be more help, but if it's any consolation, I could always tell that Pops thought... Well, I guess he figured you'd made your decision about him, but that didn't mean he didn't care about you, Isabella."

His admission makes my chest hurt, but his voice, and the way he says my name... it's calming, and I so need that right now. I don't understand why his presence makes me feel good. The way he makes me feel like I can hold myself together when everything around me – everything I thought about myself and my life – appears to be falling apart, is nice.

"I didn't—" I start, fighting the tightness in my throat. "Apparently nobody thought it was important enough for me to have that choice," I say angrily.

"Why don't you ask _her_ about all of this?" Edward asks, and I can hear the fire return to his voice a little with the way he emphasizes the word 'her' in reference to my mom.

"Don't you think I would have done that if I could?"

He shrugs and picks up his newspaper, scowling at the front page before he checks his watch and then looks back at me.

"I have to go."

"What?" I rush out. It's too soon – I need more. "You can't!"

"I have to," he says slowly, scooting his chair back.

"Can I..." I stop, wanting to ask him if I can see him again, but now sure how to do it. "Are you still going to help me, if I come back tomorrow?" I ask softly. I feel defeated, and this pain in my chest feels like it's getting stronger.

He sighs and his fist tightens around the newspaper in his hand. "I've told you what I can, I don't know what else you expect from me."

Tears form at the corners of my eyes. I don't want to fall apart in front an entire restaurant full of people – or in front of him, again. His eyes shift around nervously before he looks back at me. I can tell I'm making him uncomfortable, but I can't let him just walk away again.

"Everyone has been lying to me; everyone has been keeping things from me. Please don't be one of them. _Please_," I beg him. "I just need your help... Please, help me," I plead.

He shakes his head and looks down at his lap, and he's quiet for a long minute until he lifts his eyes back to mine. There's something there that I haven't seen before, and I want to reach across the table again and squeeze him. To tell him, without words, that we can somehow find a way to be there for each other.

As much as I don't want to admit it, right now he's all I have.

"I really do need to go," he says again, still clearly uncomfortable. "I have to be in Seattle by noon for an appointment."

I don't say anything, and my eyes drop back to my lap in defeat. I hear Edward stand, and as he walks past me I feel his hand settle around my shoulder. He offers a small squeeze and bends down. His lips are near my ear when he says, "I'll be here tomorrow."

* * *

**Like night and day, isn't he? Edward's tune changed pretty quickly... why do you think that is? I wish I could tell you the reasons behind it, but you'll just have to wait and find out when Bella does. ;)**

_Big, huge, ginormous thank you's to everyone following the story. I'm amazed at the response every single week, and if it weren't for your amazing encouragement, I don't know what I would do with myself. It's both humbling and a little bit frightening at the same time, but I wouldn't change it for the world._

**I'd love to hear what you're thinking (as always). Reviewers will get a little taste of Chapter 7!**

_Until next Tuesday..._

**xx **


	7. Chapter 7

_I usually keep it short up here, but today I've got a few things to say. Firstly, I want to wish a huge happy birthday to __**odiejae**__! Second, I want to send a ginormous thank you to __**DeeDreamer**__, who mentioned INK over on __**RaoR**__ and brought in so many lovely new readers.  
_

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

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**The warmth of his hand on my shoulder lingers long after Edward has disappeared from the diner. I don't understand why he keeps making these abrupt departures, but he did say he'd be back tomorrow, which gives me a slight feeling of hope.

I wonder if maybe he's unable to handle this situation in anything but small doses. I'd probably tell me I had an appointment in Seattle, too. Who knows. Men are confusing; especially this one.

His attitude change – literally overnight – is so baffling to me. I don't know what prompted his sudden willingness to help. To be nice. I'm not complaining, though. Truthfully, everything he said feels and seems sincere.

At the top of my list of daily puzzles is the fact that he knows far too much for it to be a lie. As much as I'd like to be able to deny everything, I'm smart enough to know it can't be done.

She lied. She lied to him. She lied to me.

The realization brings this weird combination of fear and numbness to the mixture of confusion and settles in the pit of my stomach. I force myself to finish breakfast, even though every bite just feels heavier and heavier. On a conscious level, I realize this feeling is likely the calm before the storm – this hasn't _truly_ hit me yet. I have to wonder when it will.

All signs point to the fact that Charles – Charlie Swan, was my father. But, how do I grieve for someone I've never met? Is it even possible?

I finish eating as much as I'm able and wave goodbye to Mrs. Cope on my way out of the diner. My feet take me aimlessly down First Street. I peer in the shop windows like I'm searching for some kind of answer; an explanation that could somehow make all of this go away. Instead I get the feeling that it's a truth being revealed piece by piece. I want to be stubborn and keep reminding myself that I don't have confirmation from my mom. This could really be some weird cosmic coincidence.

About half a block down from the restaurant, I spot the same little boutique I'd peeked in the other day. On a whim, I pull open the door to walk inside. The shop is colored in bright hues of orange, red and gold. It reminds me of the leaves that litter the ground in early autumn after they've fallen from the trees.

In every corner there are dresses and jeans or funky colored t-shirts with paint splatters and other various eccentricities. There's the faintest hint of lavender in the air. I move further inside, slipping between racks and taking in the clothes. This isn't my usual kind of wardrobe, but beggars can't be choosers. My supply of clean clothes has officially been depleted after a little over a week here.

Surely I can find something.

After ten minutes of searching through the racks, I can't seem to make a decision on anything. I have absolutely nothing in my hands, and I've seen no hint of anyone who might be able to help. Usually in places like this, they're up your ass as soon as you walk in the door, giving prices and pushing their sale.

I could definitely use the push right now. I'm used to the push, I'm used to comments in my ear and things like, "No, that will make your butt look big, Isabella," or "Absolutely not, I saw that same color on Jessica Stanley recently. You don't want to look like a trollop, do you?"

I sigh, staring at the colors as I slide hangers around without much enthusiasm, taking in the details of each long, flowy dress. My fingers brush across the soft fabric of a dark green one, and I can't help the reminder it brings to me of a certain boy's eyes. Before I can think twice about it, I pull it off the rack and keep moving.

I don't know why that simple movement – that tiny little action – brings tightness to my chest. But I feel like I'm doing something bad. I almost expect Renee to pop out of a corner and shake her finger at me. To tell me I made the wrong choice. She's not even here, but I feel the weight of her on my shoulders.

I blow out a heavy breath and turn away, my fingers tightening on the fabric of the dress. Without bothering to look at much else except for sizes, I grab a few other things.

With my arms full of clothes, I walk to the back of the store quickly. I feel like I just need to get this over with. Now.

Standing at the counter, I clear my throat and call out a soft, "Hello?" hoping someone is actually working today.

...And that they'll hear me.

Behind the wall in front of me, I hear something fall and then a blur of pink and black comes whipping around the corner. Her hair is short around her head, mostly black with just the thinnest streak of pink highlighting the top. She's wearing paint splattered jeans and a wrinkled Pearl Jam t-shirt that looks like it might be older than I am. She isn't at all what I expected to see.

"I'm sorry," she laughs. My eyes move to her face, and the grey of her eyes is so dark they almost look black. She pulls an earbud from her ear and shrugs. "I didn't hear the bell over my music."

"It's okay," I say, putting on the best fake smile I can. I hope she can't read what's hidden behind it. "I'd like to try these on, if I can…"

"Of course." She pulls a set of keys from her pocket and walks to the dressing room to unlock the door. "I'm Alice. If you need any help or one of those in another size, just let me know."

Alice opens the door, still smiling at me. I nod at her and then step inside with the clothes clutched to my chest. The door clicks closed behind me and I start hanging everything in my hands on the hook twisted into the wall.

My body lowers into a chair in the corner of the small room, and I stare at the clothes. This feels so strange and I know it's because I'm doing this on my own. I chose these things without anyone's input or opinion. There's always been someone with me in the past. Whether it be Mom or Rose. And I've never done this alone before.

I don't know _how _to do this by myself.

I feel the threat of tears start to overcome me for seemingly no reason at all. Something this simple – picking out clothes for goodness sake – should be _easy_. I shouldn't be freaking out because of something like _this_. And I don't understand why I am; I'm stronger than this

All I know is that I don't _want _to fall apart here, in front of a stranger.

I'm afraid I don't have a choice, though.

I just want things to be _normal _again. And I don't want to admit that I'm scared nothing will ever be the same again. No matter how much I want to deny everything; how much I want to go home, pretend this man never existed and not believe everything I've learned, I know I can't. Everything isn't okay.

They lied. They all lied… and I'm angry. It's not fair that they did this to me. It's not fair that they did this to _him_. As much as I deserved a chance to know he existed before it was too late, he deserved a chance to know me, too.

My fists clench and a sob escapes my throat without my permission. I squeeze my eyes shut and reach up to cover my mouth with the back of my hand. What must have he thought? For God's sake, he saw me and I didn't even acknowledge him.

He must have thought I was as awful as her.

Every question I posed to Edward this morning comes back to me. He may not have known why Charlie chose to come to California, but the answer is becoming increasingly obvious: he wanted to know me. He wanted me to know him.

And I want to know him, too.

I want to know what he was like and how much different my life might have been if only we'd been given a chance. Maybe if I'd been told the truth, things like this wouldn't be so hard for me. The absolute unfairness of the situation hits me like an oncoming Mack truck.

A soft knock at the door pulls my attention from the wall. I swallow and unclench my fists, reaching up quickly to wipe my cheeks. "Yes?" I ask softly.

"Are you okay?"

I laugh to myself and shake my head, even though she can't see me. What am I supposed to say to that? _No I'm not okay. I'm falling apart in a boutique because I can't make a decision without my mom here to approve it. What would make you possibly think I'm okay?_

"I'll be up front if you need me..."

Desperate to flee, I don't answer her; I don't even bother trying anything on. Standing up quickly, I gather the clothes I picked out back into my hands and pull the door open. I'll just buy everything. If it doesn't fit, well then… my bad. When I look up, Alice is there sitting on the edge of the counter, her legs dangling. She watches me as I juggle the clothes in my hand and pull the door closed behind me.

She stares at me like she's trying to solve a puzzle. "You're Isabella, aren't you?"

My eyes shoot to her face and my mouth falls open. "What?"

"You're Isabella," she repeats, shrugging as if it's not weird that she knows my name.

"Bella," I correct her out of habit. "How did you know that?"

She hops off the counter in a flurry, her feet smacking the floor from her fall. She turns and motions with her hand for me to follow her as she walks toward the back.

I'm not sure why I follow, but I do.

Alice leads us into a back room, with dark blue walls and a ripped leather sofa. She throws herself down on the leather and motions toward the other side of the room with her chin. "There's coffee over there if you'd like some," she says.

I shake my head from the doorway to indicate I'm fine. She smiles and scoots her small body to the end of the couch, placing her elbows on her knees as she leans forward. In her left ear there are piercings from cartilage to lobe, and the tiny studs of green and purple catch in the light above her.

"It's a bit hard _not _to know who you are," she says. "You look just like him."

I know this shouldn't surprise me — hell, I've heard it more than a few times in the past week — but I'm still struck stupid by her words. My eyes widen and I squeak. "But— I…" She just watches me flail like a fish out of water. "How…" I trail off, staring at her and hoping she'll understand what I'm asking.

Her posture exudes this sense of calm that kinda makes me want to shake her. She reminds me a little bit of Rosalie, and how she can shrug everything off like it's no big deal. Plus, she knows entirely too much. What kind of person does this? Just... talks like they know you without _really _knowing you?

"Edward told Jasper about you." She shrugs, and at the mention of Edward's name my heart speeds up a little. I really want to know what exactly he said about me.

Instead I ask, "Who's Jasper?"

She smiles, closes her eyes and sighs all at once. "Jasper's my husband. He and Edward have been partners for about three years."

"Oh," I mumble, looking down at the floor. "What did he say about me?" I blush instantly, realizing I blurted out the question I didn't want to ask.

Alice stands up and walks to the coffee machine, pouring herself a cup. She sips it and then shrugs at me. "Pretty much just that you came to see him. Can I offer you a suggestion?"

I look at her to continue.

"Just... give him a little time. He's having a rough go right now, but he'll come around eventually. He always does."

I'm not sure what to say to say; I've already realized that giving him time seems to work. But why would she tell me that? It only makes me even more curious to know what he really told them about me. Alice just continues talking without any prodding on my part.

"I've known Edward since grade school... and well, let's just say you've never been his favorite person. For obvious reasons. It's probably just as jarring for you to _be_ here as it is for him to _have_ you here."

That gets my lips moving. "That's the difference," I tell her. "He... _they_... knew about me. I knew nothing." I have no idea why I'm telling her this, but at least she's talking to me. Even though he promised to be back at the diner tomorrow, I have no idea which Edward will show up. I need all the help I can get.

Alice stares at me with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean?"

"Until last week, I didn't know. I'd never heard of... him. Charles."

"Charlie," she corrects me, a sad smile creeping onto her face. "He really was a great man."

I look down at the floor, tears burning in my eyes. I don't like the reminder of how good he was. I don't like the feeling of jealousy that this girl knew — had a relationship with — Charlie. I take a deep breath and jump when a loud bell sounds out from behind me, and move further into the room. I look up at Alice with shocked eyes.

"Al?" someone yells. I watch Alice, worrying my hands over who it could be. _ What if it's Edward?_ My heartbeat picks up and I suddenly wish I had the power to disappear.

Alice's face lights up with that same big smile she had when she talked of Jasper. _Shit. It can't be him..._ because if it is, Edward could be with him.

_No, he said he was going to Seattle._

_He could have lied..._

I don't want him to think I tried to worm my way into his friend's lives to gain an upper hand or anything. I don't want the trust I might have earned to disappear by doing something he might consider unfaithful.

Before I can say anything — or even hide — Alice hollers toward the door, "Back here, babe."

I hear the footsteps before Jasper comes through the doorway in full uniform. He's tall, baby-faced and has the sharpest blue eyes I've ever seen on a man. He has dirty blonde hair swirling on top of his head, and if it were longer, I'm sure it would be a mess of curls. His right cheek lifts into a smile when he sees me and he nods before turning his eyes to Alice.

"Who's this?" he asks and then looks back at me. His voice is smooth, and underneath his question I hear the barest hint of a southern accent.

"Jasper, meet Bella. Bella, this is Jasper," Alice says, motioning between the two of us.

Jasper's mouth falls open and he looks back in Alice's direction without acknowledging me. I can feel his discomfort without him even having to say anything, because it matches my own. The tension in the room feels like it's gone from zero to fifty in about two seconds flat as the silence stretches out. I need to get out of here.

I clear my throat and they both turn to look at me. "I... um, can you ring me up, Alice? I should get going. It was… nice to meet you, Jasper," I whisper, hurrying past him to escape.

"Sure, no problem."

Alice follows me out to the cash register, and I want to ask her about a million questions, but I don't. She doesn't say anything either, just rings me up and lets me leave with a simple goodbye.

**x-x-x**

I clutch the bag in my hand, determined to return to my hotel. I don't know what to make of everything I've heard today. Everything I've realized. My mind feels like a huge tangled web of deceit.

Throwing the bag of clothes on the dresser, I flop onto the bed. My goal for distraction only served to make things more real, and between my conversation with Edward this morning and the run-in with Alice and Jasper... there's just too damn much for me to process. I close my eyes, hoping that my brain will obey me and just shut down.

**x-x-x**

"_Isabella," Mom says as I step on the platform. I bounce excitedly as she drops quarters into the slot. "Stay close to me, okay? I don't want you getting lost."_

_I nod and turn back to the take in the view in front of me. I have to stand on the tips of my toes to see. But it's worth it. I press my face as far into the machine that magnifies everything from tiny to big as I can, just so I can see. _

_I can see the world from up here! My eyes dance and bounce and I try to take in as much as I can as the timer click, click, clicks..._

_It's so _pretty_. Everything is _so_ pretty. Someday, I'm gonna live here. Someday..._

_Suddenly everything goes black and I turn with a pout._

_"Mom!" I cry, looking up at her. "I need more quarters. Please?"_

_Her attention is somewhere else, and it takes my calling her a few more times before she finally turns and looks at me. Her eyes are wide. She offers me a shaky smile as she blindly slips three more quarters into my fingers._

_I turn back to the machine as quickly as I can, listening to the quarters as they drop into the slot. I want to push my face back against it and pick up where I left off._

_A male voice rumbles behind me, and I hear him call my mom's name, but it's too pretty for me to look away._

_Until everything goes black again..._

_When I turn back around to ask for more quarters, my eyes catch on the little boy looking back at me. He's older than me, but he has big green eyes and his hair looks a little bit like a dirty penny. I grin at his goofy looking hair and proudly show off the gap in my teeth that the tooth fairy deemed worth a whole five dollars._

_He smiles shyly back at me before he looks up to the man standing next to him. My gaze follows his, and I notice the man is watching me intently. He has bushy brown hair, kinda like mine. _

_I try to figure out if food ever gets stuck in his mustache._

_He doesn't say anything, and I blush from his attention, looking down at the ground. The quarters are forgotten as I try to hide behind my mom._

_She grabs my hand. "Come on, Isabella," my mom rushes out. "We have to go. Now."_

_She pulls me from the platform, and I struggle to match the strides her legs make. My mom is so much taller than me. The man shouts her name and I stop, turning back to look. He's still watching me, but my eyes move to the boy._

_He smiles real big and waves at me._

_Before I can wave back, he's gone._

**x-x-x**

My eyes pop open and I sit up, breathing heavily. I can feel the sweat coating my body like an extra layer of skin. I reach up, rubbing the tight spot – right in the middle of my chest. I feel like I can't pull in or push out enough air.

That wasn't just a dream... that was a memory. It all seems so clear now, just like the memory I had of Tahoe. I know it means something. An idea pops into my head and I jump from the bed, my eyes searching the dark room. I need to see a picture.

I grab the newspaper from the table, switching on the lamp above me and find the article I'm looking for quickly.

_**Suspect still on the Loose in Swan Case**_

_Nearly one week following the funeral of Police Chief Charles Swan, everyone is asking the same question: Where is Lonnie Vance?_

_His disappearance set off a man-hunt in the vicinity of Port Angeles and its surrounding areas. Detectives commented that sightings have been reported all over the Olympic Peninsula, but so far none of the leads have led to making an arrest in the case._

_Vance, Age 27, was most recently thought to be hiding out in Seattle with family members. A search of the home came up empty._

_Police are asking that you to keep your eyes and ears open. Vance stands at six-foot-two, weighs in the range of 180-190lbs and has brown hair and hazel eyes. Authorities believe he may have changed the color of his hair or altered his appearance by growing a beard. He's believed to be driving a gold 1994 Honda Accord with a Washington license plate number 64K44B8._

_Police say he should be considered armed and dangerous. If you spot Vance, you are encouraged to call 911 immediately._

Goosebumps rise on my arms and I feel a cold chill run through me. Shivering, I stare at the photograph next to the article, the one of Charlie.

The man with the mustache... the boy with the dirty penny hair. It was _them_. It was Edward and it was my... it was Charlie.

That's how he knew about me. That's how he found out...

She never told him, either.

I don't know how I didn't see it before now. I stare more closely at the picture, brushing my fingers over it softly.

I _do _have his eyes.

Day turns to night, and when the darkness slowly begins to lighten again, I realize I haven't moved. My eyes focus on the door and I can't seem to fathom the idea of getting up out of this bed; of functioning.  
There are too many things going on in my head.

No matter where I look, I keep seeing his face. Not just his picture, but the memory from all those years ago, before there was gray in his hair and frown lines etched so deeply into his cheeks. I definitely have his eyes; hell, I even have his lips. Sometime during the night, I realized the craziest thing was we both have the same birthmark just below our left eye, in the exact same spot.

I'd seen him before – on the news, in the paper, the pictures in his house – but I realize now that I'd never really _looked_ for what was right in front of me. There's no denying it now.

I just can't understand why they didn't want me to know him_._

_How am I ever supposed to figure this out without them?_

**x-x-x**

With a jolt, I wake. I hear ringing from somewhere; it won't stop. With bleary eyes, I search for the source. When I find it, my fingers curl around cold plastic and I press the power button until the flashing colors go dim in my hand. I don't even bother checking to see who it is; I don't want to talk to anyone.

My gaze wanders to the ceiling and my stomach rolls. The unsettling feeling of someone moving my things around and leaving them in the wrong place is so big that it's difficult to breathe. I close my eyes and try to block out everything.

I need more time to figure this out. There has to be an answer; a solution. There has to be some kind of explanation.

**x-x-x**

_I wonder if Edward is looking for me? Does he think I left?_

Maybe he assumes I don't need or want his help. At this point, I'm no longer sure of that myself. 

_This is impossible… _

Maybe I can just stay here in this room. Just forget there's a world beyond that door and pretend this is where I belong.

I'm scared. I'm confused.

I shut my eyes tightly, hoping that when I wake up again this _will_ all have been a dream.

**x-x-x**

My eyes open again, and the room is light. I try telling myself I can't keep doing this, that closing off the world isn't solving any of my problems. But there's just too much...

_Where do I go from here? Why aren't they here to help me? Should I go home? What's there for me? _

My condo isn't mine. The possessions inside it don't _really _belong to me. Hell, even my credit cards don't have _my _name on them...

_Did they do this on purpose? Why would they do this? How will I ever bounce back from this?  
_  
_Get up, Bella. You have to get up._

Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow...

**x-x-x**

Greens and reds. Shadows and dice. Spinning. Numbers. Cars move and a slight breeze blows. I'm alone and I don't know where I am.

A car whips past. The faces inside look so familiar, but before I can place them it's disappearing around a corner.

_Where am I?_

I try to take a step, and the shadow hovers. It grabs me, holds me, and begins to pull. The force is too strong and now I'm moving backwards.

One. Two... eight... fifteen.

I can't stop it.

Everything that was familiar looks so far away now. I reach out, but I can't touch anything. I scream, but they can't hear me.

It blurs and moves, and I can hear them – living and laughing – but I'm stuck. I can only go back, back, back...

Planting my feet, I close my eyes and scream in frustration. Going forward is impossible. It's too heavy, the weight, the pressure is too much. I don't have the power – the strength – to get back there.

I can see it... I just have to figure out a way... It looks so much like what I used to have.

_How did I get so weak?  
_  
My eyes shift, and I search for hope. For an answer. For help... There's nothing.

The scene around me changes, and now I see something new. Brighter colors and bigger buildings. I feel drawn to it, and when I take a step in the new direction... it's easy. I can move again.

I turn this way and that, looking up and staring at the shadow as it slowly begins to disappear. Once more, I look behind me, at what used to be.

With a sigh, I look forward again. I take another step. One, two, three... and when I turn back again, those dimmer colors – those old people, familiar faces, that old _me_ – are so far behind, I can't even see them anymore.

* * *

**I know, I know… no Copward and probably not what you were hoping for at all, but this is Bella's story and I just ask you to remember that it's only been about a week since she got to PA. Give her (and them) some time to figure things out. I don't do anything on accident, so I just ask you to stick with me. Hopefully you'll find that it's worth the wait.**

_Can you believe it's only four days until Christmas? FOUR DAYS! Have you finished your shopping yet? I haven't. I hope you all have a very very happy holiday and that Santa brings you whatever your heart desires (except Edward, because he's going to be in MY stocking). :) And, sadly, with the mention of Christmas…I have to say that I won't be able to promise teasers this week. My parents are flying in tonight and will be here through next Tuesday, so my fanfic life will be slightly put on hold until they're gone. I will do my best though! If I don't manage to get them all done, there will be a teaser on The Fictionators on Monday for sure and you'll be getting Chapter 8 on Tuesday 12/28 right on schedule._

**Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what your thoughts are!**

_xx_


	8. Chapter 8

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

**

* * *

**

The dream fades slowly, the washed-out hues of my past gradually melting into a bright light that surrounds me.

My eyelids flutter and I realize that it's only the sun. I sit up and blink, looking around the room groggily. _How many days has it been? _There's a twinge of discomfort as I turn and swing my feet over the side of the bed, probably from the minimal use my muscles have gotten lately. I yawn and reach my arms above my head, attempting to stretch.

I look around the room, my eyes catching on the newspaper and everything comes back to me in a flash. The ringing, the memory... and that crazy ass dream. I know – _now_ – what my subconscious was trying to tell me: I _can _still move forward.

The warmth of the shower pours over my body, loosening the tightness in my muscles. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I'm still not sure how many days it's been. I need food. I need lots of things. Mostly, I want to see Edward.

I feel compelled to let him know that I haven't left town, that despite my disappearing act, I still want (and need) his help... I want the chance to know my father. Even if it's just through someone else's stories, I'll take what I can get. No matter how knocked down I may feel, I just have to get up and take the first step.

I dry off and stand in front of the mirror, staring at myself. I bite my lip, staring at the bag of clothes that somehow made it to the floor in the past few days. I know this is a necessary step, and that to anyone else getting dressed might seem like such a simple task. For me? Of course not. I'm scared to death.

When you can't remember the last time you wore something that hasn't had the approval of someone else, it's daunting to think of wearing something people might not like. The saddest part is I don't even know if _I _like them.

With my back to the mirror, I pull the jeans up my legs and button them in place. The shirt slides on just as easily, and when I turn around, I expect to somehow look different. I don't. I feel different, though; like I'm wearing a whole new skin. I lift one leg, and then the other, wiggling a little and turning in front of the mirror. The jeans are so much _looser _than what I normally wear, and so _comfortable_.

My fingers rise to my hair, instinctually desperate to pull it up – into something less messy, more organized – but I drop them quickly and shake my head. My hair curls at the ends, twisting this way and that over my shoulders, and I smile a little. I like this.

I squint at the foggy morning light, closing my eyes against the achy feeling the small patches of sunlight that poke through the clouds creates. I push those feelings aside, reminding myself that I need to do this, for me.

Seeing these small signs of life around me remind me that while I may have shut down for these last... however many days, everything else has continued on without me. I can't ignore this anymore; I can't keep pretending everything hasn't changed. It's time for me to take back my life.

The time alone, though hazy, gave me the ability I needed to figure some things out. To see that, though I'm on a different path than I thought I would be on, things can still be okay.

Perhaps they can even be better.

Now that I'm sure – now that I _know_ – there were such huge secrets being kept from me, I can't help but wonder if my parents did it on purpose. They seemingly put me inside this bubble and turned me into this compulsive girl who needed to control what she could, when, in actuality, she really had no control at all. Did they do it to keep me from asking questions or seeing inconsistencies that I'm sure (now) _had_ to be there? Or, had they found some ingenious way of forcing me to be this 'yes' girl who didn't argue so I'd never have reason to question if something was wrong...

If it _was_ their purpose... it worked.

And it's my fault; _I _allowed them to do it. I let my own needs and wants and dreams be overridden because it was easier to please them than to suffer the fear of change. None of it seemed so wrong at the time, but now... I feel cheated and stupid and foolish.

It doesn't need to be that way, though.

I want to be strong. I want to be finished caving to the wants and likes of my mother and my friends, simply because it's the easier option. I can't let myself fear change anymore; change is inevitable. I want to know what it's like to be okay with it. I want this new opportunity for life. To find my _own _way, make my own decisions and choices and have my own freakin' credit card.

I sigh, and look down at the ground. I just hope that I can remain positive and make it to whatever the next step is. Deep down, I know this will be the most difficult thing I've ever had to do, but I want to try and embrace it. It's time for me to figure out what _I_ want, what _I_ like, where_ I_ want to be and what I'm going to do with the rest of _my_ life.

I grab my things and lock my door behind me. The breeze blows my hair across my face. I laugh as I take a deep breath in through my nose and enjoy the burn it leaves behind. Despite the clouds, it's a nice day.

As I approach the restaurant, I look around. On the outside, everything looks the same. Though, I'm not sure why that surprises me. It's been a few days, and though I feel like parts of me have been renovated, I know it's not like they could have done the same in such a short time.

With a deep breath, I pull open the door. My feet drag as I walk inside and my breath catches in my throat when I see Edward. He's reading the newspaper and hasn't noticed me.

Mrs. Cope offers me her familiar smile as I pull out the chair across from him. The newspaper lowers, and he looks at me with an odd expression I don't understand. I can't help wondering again if he's looked for me. If he thought I left town, or if he'd spoken to Alice and knows that I've met her. Maybe he really did assume I didn't need his help after all, I don't know.

I take my seat slowly, and his eyes follow the movement of my body. I'm not sure where to start, and the fact that he's in his uniform today brings a frown to my face. He'll be leaving soon.

"I remember," I rush out, afraid that if I wait too long I won't get to say the things I need to.

He cocks his head to the side and stares at me. His hands move, folding the newspaper and then he places it next to him on the table.

His words are kinder than I expect, "Remember what?"

"Seattle. The Space Needle," I say, breathing a sigh of relief at his friendly reception of my once again sudden appearance at his table.

His eyes widen, and he hmm's in the back of his throat, but he doesn't say anything. I trace the placemat with my finger and look up at his head with a small smile.

"Your hair looked like a dirty penny."

His hair still looks the same, but the color is darker now, like it's become less bright with age. Just like pennies do.

"You were missing a tooth," he replies with no hesitation whatsoever. He grins, and it's so similar to the one I remember from all those years ago, I can't stop my own face from mirroring his expression.

His reply eases my nerves a tiny bit, but it also does other things to me. I feel heat rise to my cheeks and a little flutter in my belly. I look down at my lap, trying to hide. He's beautiful; he's always _been _beautiful.

This whole thing feels like some weird version of fate that we're back here, in the same place, together. Suddenly, I'm thankful that, for everything I feel like I've lost, he's the one thing I gained. But I know this isn't fate. The reason I'm here is not the stuff of fairytales. It's the stuff of nightmares.

It stays quiet, and my eyes lift slowly as I sigh. _Is he wondering where I've been? Is he going to ask? Can I really tell him I locked myself inside my hotel room like a wuss? _

"I thought you left," Edward blurts out abruptly. I look up and he averts his eyes from mine, glancing around the restaurant. He looks back at me slowly – cautiously. "Town, I mean. I thought you left town," he clarifies, as if it isn't obvious.

"I considered it," I start, still unsure if I'm ready to share with him what the past few days have been like.

"I wouldn't have blamed you."

"No?"

He reaches up and his fingers glide through his hair, making the impossible mess even messier. His short-sleeve shirt rides up his arm the tiniest bit and the muscles in his bicep flex with the movement.

"No," he says, and for some reason now he looks conflicted. "I— still don't know how to do this."

I laugh quietly and twirl a finger in my hair as he clears his throat.

"You disappeared... and then I— I heard from Alice, and I realized I wasn't very receptive of you and I was afraid you'd left without me getting the chance to tell you I was sorry for the way I acted. You didn't deserve my attitude."

My eyes widen as he rambles; I didn't expect this from him. I know our previous interactions could have gone better, that I could have asked him questions faster and been less of a brat. It wasn't his fault his perceptions of me were wrong.

"It's okay," I mumble.

"It's really not. If Pops were still around... I can't even think about what he would have done to me for behaving the way I did to you." He clears his throat. "I owe you a huge apology. You asked for my help, and I should have given it without letting my own shit get in the way. You didn't ask for this to happen."

I blink, surprised at his candidness. In the past, he's always been a man of very few words. I'm fairly certain this is the most I've heard him say since I got to Port Angeles. I can't help wondering what's changed.

"Thank you," I reply, my voice quiet. "I probably would have done the same thing if the situations were reversed." I shrug, and he looks down at his lap. "Except that whole pulling a gun on you thing. That I definitely wouldn't have done."

He looks up at me quickly and I smile, hoping he'll get the joke I'm trying to make.

"Very funny." He lifts his coffee and takes a sip. The crinkles around his eyes tell me he's smiling behind the cup. "I meant what I said; sneaking up on a police officer is a very bad idea. Next time, maybe you'll think twice."

"I didn't know you were there!" I say in my defense. The twitch in his cheeks gives away the fact that he's holding in a laugh.

Mrs. Cope comes to the table and refills his coffee, asking me if I'd like anything. I tell her the usual and she laughs before disappearing again. Edward picks up his mug and blows over the top, and then takes a sip.

He's watching me again, with that same strange expression on his face. It's making me squirmy.

"What?" I ask, reaching up to run my fingers through my hair self-consciously.

"Nothing." He shakes his head and shrugs, yet again. It's sort of cute.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like that!" My hands flail in front of me and he laughs. I want to hear it again; it's comforting, like the way he says my name.

"I'm not looking at you like anything," he replies, and I can feel the flame in his voice starting to burn warmer. He's not angry, but there's intensity in every word.

Silence settles over the table, but it's not uncomfortable like I thought it would be. I'm still trying to figure out what to say next. I want this to be easier, to be able to ask him questions. I wish I was able to talk to him without this nervous ball of energy floating in my belly, but I don't know if that's possible yet.

I just hope he's as willing to try as I am.

"Where have you been?" he asks, bringing my attention back to his face.

I draw a circle on the table with my finger. "Around."

"Around," he repeats. I nod and lower my eyes to the table.

He _hmm's _again, but doesn't offer any negative remarks. It's only a small progress, but I'll take what I can get.

After a moment I raise my eyes back to his and smile, silently thanking him for not pushing. "Avoiding," I tell him, shrugging.

"You know," he replies. "A wise man told me once that you can't avoid things forever. You never know when tomorrow will be too late."

His words push against something in my chest. I'm pretty sure I know which wise man he's referring to, but if it that were true…

"How come he didn't try harder?" I ask, my voice higher than I expect. I want to know why Charlie didn't try to reach out to me if he wanted me to be part of his life. "Before he— before…" I can't seem to get the word out. I look down at the table, swallowing thickly as emotion surges through me.

Edward doesn't seem to need for me to say the words; he gets it. "I can't answer that for you."

I look away before asking my next question. "That night, when it happened... why didn't _anyone_ call me?" I don't want to point fingers, but I hope he gets this, too. I want to understand why, if Edward knew about me, he wouldn't have tried to contact me before it was too late.

His face twists, and the emotion I see there isn't hard to recognize. "I have to apologize for that, too," he says, his voice full of the same sadness and regret stretched across his face now. "I don't have any excuses, Isabella. That night was... I can't even explain it to you. They took him right into surgery and I couldn't— he didn't..."

"...make it out," I finish for him.

Edward nods, and my stomach twists. I can't even imagine what this must be like for him; especially as a police officer. I'm angry at my mom and dad, but I can't imagine losing them like _this_. It hits me all at once, that I should be able to imagine it. I should be able to commiserate with Edward, to make him feel like he isn't alone— I lost a parent too. Even if I never got to actually meet him – to know him – Charlie _was_ my father.

Edward picks up his coffee and holds it in front of his face, like he wants to hide behind it from this conversation. I can't blame him. I've done plenty of hiding this past week.

"I would have, you know," I mutter. "I would have wanted to know him."

He looks at me, and his eyes are so intense I have to look away. "I'm beginning to see that," he says sadly. "You don't do much of anything I expect you to do."

My shoulders sag and I sigh. Just like the other day, I want to reach out and touch him. Squeeze his hand or his arm; something. I want some kind of connection to someone right now, because, though I may be ready to face this, I still feel disconnected from everything.

"What I don't understand," I start, " is why they never told me. You said she was supposed to tell me, what did you mean by that?"

He sets his coffee mug down. "Pops told me he knew after that day at the Needle, that he just... had a feeling about who you were. Even though it was pretty clear she never bothered to tell him about you, he tracked her down and demanded to be a part of your life."

My eyes widen and I bite my lip. I didn't expect this _at all_. If he's right, if Charlie was telling the truth, it means Renee did this on purpose. She really _did_ keep me away from him. I'm not sure what other emotions to feel except for anger at this revelation. My fists tighten until I can feel my fingernails pressing into my skin.

Edward watches the clenching of my hands, and looks uncomfortable when he continues, "I don't presume to know your mother, so please don't be offended... but from what I know, Renee gave him some story about you being too old for there not to be any confusion. And too young to decide for yourself whether or not you wanted to be part of his life."

He looks wary as he picks up his coffee and takes a sip. I assume he's expecting me to be angry about what he's said of my mother. But I'm not. I wish there were a way to reassure him that pretty much nothing he can say at this point will offend me, but I don't know how.

"Why did he stay away then?" I ask.

"She promised him that when you were old enough, it would be up to you."

My heart falls and I stare at the table, his words sinking in. "And he thought that I'd chosen not to be part of his life because he never heard from me," I sigh, looking back up at him.

Edward nods. "Pretty much, yeah."

"I just... can't believe this," I whisper, more to myself than anything. "I just..."

"He kept up with you, you know... When you graduated college he wanted to be there," Edward offers. "He was really proud of you," he adds softly, and when I look up his eyes are on mine.

His expression – his eyes – say they're checking to make sure I'm okay. And I like it. I like the glimpse at the caring and beautiful man beneath the anger and fire he's shown me before.

Mrs. Cope interrupts, bringing my breakfast to the table with her usual smile and flirtatious banter with Edward. After she leaves, it gets quiet around us. My stomach growls and I pick up my fork, twirling it in my fingers, unsure of what to say.

The ringing of my phone brings my attention away from him and I turn my head, staring at my bag. The distraction is welcome and I reach over, digging through the front pocket to pull my phone out. I look down at the display, sure it's Rosalie again.

_Mom Calling..._

I read it once. Twice. Now? She fucking calls _now?_ My chest tightens, and I can feel my heart beating faster. I can even hear blood rushing in my ears. My fingers grip the phone tighter and I have to fight the urge to slam it into the table in anger.

From my peripheral, I can see Edward watching, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Looking back up at him, I stare into his gorgeous green eyes and in that second, I decide.

I press the ignore button and drop the phone against the table.

"I think I'm going to stay here," I blurt out, surprising us both.

He looks down at his newspaper and scowls before looking back up at me. The green in his eyes seems to change in a second; they look almost black. And I wonder if I've made him mad, if he really doesn't want me here.

"Here where?" he asks.

"Here. Port Angeles…" I clear my throat, waiting for his reaction.

He still looks a bit puzzled, but after a few seconds, his cheeks lift and the grin is back. He's trying to fight it, but one side of his mouth quirks up a little, twitching with the effort he's using to keep it from happening. I've never seen him look so uninhibited. It's delicious to see him with his guard dropped.

"Oh," he says, one shoulder lifting as he looks back down at the table.

My eyes wander, and I don't say anything, because now my mind is spinning. The repercussions of what I've just said hit me and I want to backtrack. To deny it, or tell him I was joking. Because staying here means... what?

It means I'll have to go through with everything I've been thinking of this past week or so. I'll have to figure out all the things that, up until now, have pretty much been figured out for me.

_Can I really do this?_

Doing this means that I'll have to find a job, and a place to live. It means I'll have to make all new friends and make a new bubble. And what will I do about my clothes and things from my house in California? _Should I go home? Can I ask Rose and Em to pack my things and bring them to me? _My mind starts to move, questions forming and I want to panic a little, but I do what I can to keep myself stable. Together. Especially in front of him.

My mind continues to spin until Edward's voice breaks me from my internal musings. "Are you okay?"

"What?" I say. "Oh, yeah... I'm just," I huff, unsure if I want to admit to him the shit that goes on in my head. "This is a lot, you know? All this... change. All at once. I don't know if I'm ready for it."

He chuckles and I scowl at him. "You're more like him than I thought."

"Really?"

"Really."

I beam at him, because for some reason, this small thing makes me really happy. "Thank you," I tell him.

"For what?"

"For giving me a chance after I was so... forward with you, and a little bit bratty. You didn't have to do that, and I know I'm probably not your favorite person, and I more than likely never will be, but I do hope we can be friends. At least..." I ramble.

"I think I can do friends," he interrupts, and his eyes crinkle as that same little half-smile creeps onto his face.

"In that case, let's start over." My smile mimics his, and I stick out my hand in offering. "Hi, I'm Bella. It's nice to meet you."

He laughs and wraps his hand around mine. It's warm and I have to fight to hold in a groan.

"I'm Edward," he says. "And it's nice to meet you, too."

* * *

**So, she's staying...and now she's refusing to answer Renee's calls. I'm sure you all want to smack her, but give the girl a break. At least she made a friend, right? Heeheehee.**

_I hope you all had as wonderful a holiday as I did. This past week has been crazy busy, so much so, that I wasn't even sure I'd be able to get this posted tonight. Luckily, Nicki is amazing. I actually managed to respond to almost all of the reviews on the past chapter, but if I didn't get to you, I'm sorry! I read and treasure each and every word that comes through for this story, and I can't thank you all enough for the love and support you've given me. It means the world to me._

**Leave some love and you'll get a little taste of Chapter 9 in return! Thank you for reading!**

_xx_


	9. Chapter 9

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

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* * *

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"Morning," I say, taking my spot at our table.

Just the sight of Edward's unruly hair and crooked grin make me smile. They make me look past the fact that I had a rough night and that Charlie's couch isn't _nearly_ as comfortable as it looks. Hell, they've made me look past lots of things.

One of my dad's favorite sayings when I was growing up was that a week isn't very long in the grand scheme of things. Seven days, one hundred and sixty eight hours; really, it's the blink of an eye in most people's lifetime.

For me, though, seven days had been the beginning of easing my way into a new path.

In any other circumstance, I probably would have freaked out. But when I'd left the diner last week, with Edward's agreement that we could be friends – start over... I felt like I was floating. On cloud nine. I was _happy_. For all the fear, the dread and the anger that I'd experienced in the days before going back and seeing him again, somehow everything just felt right. I felt like I could do anything if I put my mind to it.

"Morning," he replies. His voice sounds tired, and when I look closer, I can't help but notice the deep, dark circles under his eyes.

The way he's cradling his coffee cup close to his mouth tells me he must have had a rough night, too. Before I have a chance to ask him about it, Mrs. Cope is at my side. I offer her a good morning and grin while Edward flirts. I found out last week that he's been doing this since he was seventeen, when she worked in the office at the High School here in town. She says she's never been able to resist his adorable little half-smile, and who can blame her? I can barely resist it either.

Pulling out my sketchbook, I drop it on the table with my lucky pencil, still watching them as I think back again to how this unconventional friendship of ours began.

And how it's progressed...

We've seen each other at the diner every day for breakfast. Admittedly, that first day was tense. I was nervous and still a little bit frightened that he could change his mind at any moment. After I brought out the envelope with the items Jacob Black had given me at the will reading and tried to hand it over to him, I was sure he was about to.

I had already decided those possessions belonged to Edward. When I tried to hand the envelope over a second time, he just stared at it like it would bite him if he touched it. Which told me that he obviously felt differently. He hadn't reacted at all like I expected him to. He wouldn't even hear of it, and when I pushed – we argued.

"_You're crazy if you think I'm taking that from you," he said, his voice hard._

_"It doesn't belong to me, Edward," I shot back. "You shouldn't have to find a new place to live."_

_"What on Earth are you talking about?" he asked, still refusing to accept the envelope._

_"You had to move out because of me," I tried to explain._

_His face took on a confused look and then he laughed. "I don't live in Pops' house; I haven't since I was twenty."_

I'd been sure, after thinking about it, that when I caught Edward at the house that day, he'd been moving out. I learned that morning that my assumptions were wrong.

But despite our tense moments, Edward continues to come back. Each time, it's gotten a little easier. A little bit more comfortable.

While I'm not foolish enough to believe we're not still on shaky ground, I now know there's something here; something that brings us both back day after day. It's like there's this bond, a connection that's existed for far longer than either of us could have ever guessed, and it's too strong to deny. Even if we haven't admitted to it out loud, it's not hard to see that we both feel its presence.

Even if I didn't feel that spark, I know I'd still want to be around him. His friendship has given me confidence and his knowledge gives me an irreplaceable window into the father I never had the chance to know.

Listening to him tell stories about Charlie is amazing and exciting and sad. Like the first time Edward went out on patrol and Charlie followed him and Jasper all night. He thought Edward wouldn't recognize an identical police car trailing him through the moonlit streets of town. He even tried to deny it after Edward stealthily took a back street and turned the tables on him, becoming the trail-er rather than the trail-ee.

Though, it's not just the stories, or the connection to Charlie. It's _him_. Edward makes me feel like I've never felt before. Like it doesn't matter what I do or don't know. Like it doesn't matter if my shoes aren't straight or my jeans hang on the opposite side of the closet. It's up to me now how things go and what matters most is _my_ decision.

I know if it weren't for him, I would have fallen apart by now.

It's not really a question for me anymore of whether or not Charlie was my father. I'm no longer waiting – nor looking – for confirmation from my mom that everything I've discovered in these past few weeks is the truth.

In my heart, I know it is. The only questions that linger are... Why was he kept from me?

And… Why was_ I_ kept from _him_?

I still want and _need_ to know those things. But, I'm not ready. Not yet.

My mom continues to call relentlessly. Stubbornly, I'm ignoring her. There's this sick part of me that's getting some satisfaction with letting her go unanswered. It soothes me to think that she might just feel a tiny bit of what I'm feeling. And I know that's evil, perhaps even a little childish, but I feel like I have a right to be a little bit of a baby right now.

Edward snaps his fingers in front of my face, and I focus on him. He looks far too amused for his own good.

"What?"

"Where did you just go?" he asks, sipping his coffee and smirking.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I shrug, just now noticing that Mrs. Cope is no longer at the table. "I was just patiently waiting for you to quit flirting with your girlfriend."

"Shush," he laughs, and the tops of his cheeks turn this adorable shade of pink. "She's sweet to me," he shrugs. "And I tip her well in return. It's a give and take kind of relationship." His face is so serious, for a second, I almost believe him.

"What do you tip her in? Smiles and winks?" I joke.

He rolls his eyes at me and I laugh, turning my head to look at Mrs. Cope behind the counter. When I look back at him, he grins and then offers _me_ a wink.

And now I'm the one blushing.

"How was it?" he asks, changing the subject entirely.

Sighing, I look at him. I know what he's asking. The morning after I'd tried to give him the envelope, I made sure not to bring it up again. As far as I was concerned, it wasn't settled – but I was willing to wait him out. I was perfectly content to continue staying at the inn and racking up charges on my parents credit card bill until… I don't know when. I just knew I had to wait for the right moment to discuss things with him again. He surprised me by bringing it up first.

_"You should move into the house," he'd said. "Charlie would want you there."_

_"No," I shook my head. "I don't think so."_

_"Why not, Bella?" he huffed. "It's just sitting there, empty. The house is yours now. It's paid for. What's stopping you?"_

_"I don't belong there," I'd said._

_He stared at me, his eyes soft. "If anyone does, it's you."_

It'd taken me a good week before I had the courage to follow his advice and actually check out of the inn so I could 'move in.'

Last night, after going inside the house, I turned on every light I could. For a while, I just sat on the couch and stared at the blank television, the recliner. The pictures on the mantle. I attempted to sleep, but it wasn't until the early hours of morning that I realized this adjustment is going to be much more difficult than I want it to be.

"It was alright," I say, but my voice isn't steady – even to my own ears. I don't know how to explain to him how it feels to be there, because I know there was a time when he felt the same. That I _don't_ belong there.

I still can't help that I feel like an intruder in a stranger's home.

"Just 'alright?'" he asks.

I shrug. "Yeah, the couch isn't really that comfortable."

His face twists in an odd expression and then he laughs. "Why are you sleeping on the couch?"

"I don't know," I start, stopping when Mrs. Cope comes to the table and drops off our breakfast. She doesn't even ask what I want anymore; she just brings me the pancakes and fills up my mug with hot coffee. I like that she's figured out quickly that when I find something I like, I tend stick with it.

In an effort to avoid being honest with Edward, I use the food to my advantage, digging into my fluffy pancakey goodness. Edward seems to get the hint, because he does the same.

The table is quiet, save for the scraping of forks and sipping of coffee... until the ringing of my phone vibrates my bag against the chair at my side. The sound is too obvious in the otherwise quiet diner this morning.

I glance over at Edward, hoping he'll go along with my need to pretend it's _not _actually ringing. That would be too easy, though. He stares at my bag and then looks at me. I look away from him and take another bite of my breakfast, chewing slowly.

"You know, you can't avoid them forever."

I scowl at my plate, wondering why I thought it was a good idea to share with him that I haven't been answering phone calls from home. _Stupid, know it all pretty boy. _

"Answer it. Like ripping off a band-aid, once it's done – it's done," he says.

I want to tell him to shut up, or to mind his own business, but he's right. I can't keep avoiding them; especially not Rosalie.

Looking up, I set my fork down with a sigh. My eyes still on his, I reach into my bag and pull out my phone. With a quick glance at the screen to confirm it's not my mother, I flip it open and press it to my ear with caution.

"You are in so much motherfucking trouble!" I pull the phone away and wince at Rosalie's shrill voice in my ear.

"I'm sorry," I say, knowing it's useless. She's going to be pissed no matter what.

"No! What the hell, Bella? Where are you, and why the fuck haven't you been answering your phone?"

"You know where I am," I say sarcastically, hoping to soften her up. "I haven't been answering my phone because things are a little bit crazy right now."

"I don't care how crazy things are! When someone calls – you _answer your phone_!"

"I said I was sorry!" I screech, looking up at Edward who's watching my exchange with a smug smile on his face.

"Your mother has been calling here non-stop," Rosalie sighs.

"Shit," I whisper. "I haven't... I don't. Shit!"

"Yeah, well, she caught Emmett. And-he-may-have-told-her-where-you-are," she rushes out.

"What?" My heart stutters in my chest. "What does she know? Does she know why I'm here?"

"She knows you're in Washington, but she doesn't know why – or where," Rose says, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"I'm not ready to talk to her yet."

"When are you coming home?" she asks.

"Uh... I'm actually _not_."

She's quiet and I hate it. I can hear her fingernails tapping on something, and I know she's processing what I've just said. I know she's going to tell me it's a bad choice, or that I'm not thinking clearly. That she's going to argue with my decision. But it isn't up to her, it's not up to anyone anymore; nobody but me.

"Rose, I just feel like... I don't know. I'm staying here," I say firmly, then look up and my eyes settle on Edward when I continue, "I feel like this is where I'm _supposed_ to be."

He smiles into his lap and it's that dazzling one, the one I love, full of lips and teeth and every curve in his too pretty jaw. The one that makes my heart melt in my chest – and though he isn't looking at me, I can feel its meaning.

"What about your stuff? What about your job, Bella? The condo?" Rose asks, breaking me from Edward's smile.

"What did you say?" I ask.

"I said, what about your stuff? Your job? The condo?"

She sounds a little frantic, so I rush to give her answers. "You can't tell me you weren't planning to move in with Emmett soon, and my stuff is just... stuff. I'm not all that concerned with it. And my job, well, you know what I think about my job. I'm not gonna lie and say this isn't scary as shit, and that I have any idea what I'm doing, but it's true Rose. All of it was true. They _lied_ to me... and I'm staying here."

She sighs, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. Even from thousands of miles away – over the phone. She still wants to argue, to push. But I can already sense that she won't.

"Are you sure?" she asks me.

_What do I say? How do I answer that? Am I? I think I am. I want to be.  
_  
"I will be," I tell her instead. "I will."

"Then I'll be here for you, B. You know that right? No matter what. I'm here for you."

My eyes sting and I blink, trying to keep the emotion at bay from her words. "Thank you."

With a promise to call her soon, we hang up and I'm faced with Edward's questioning eyes. I know he wants to ask, I can tell that he's curious. But I think he feels what I feel: that we're still shaky, and it's not his business. Maybe he thinks I don't want him to know. But, I do. I do want him to know. Because staying here means he's part of my life now – a big part, I hope.

After I place my phone back in my purse, I look up and Edward smirks at me. He takes a bite of his pancake and smiles around it, watching me. He's going to say it, I know he's going to say it…

"I told you so."

I throw my napkin at him and stick out my tongue. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying," he laughs. "You can't avoid them forever."

His look is pointed, and the meaning is clear: I can't avoid my _mother_ forever. Eventually, just like with Rose, I'll have to talk to her and tell her what I know. And I'll have to tell her that she hurt me and that I don't know if I can ever forgive her for what she did.

To me, _or_ to Charlie. And that scares me to death.

"I know," I whisper.

**x-x-x**

After Edward and I part ways, I leave the diner with his words repeating in my head. I can't avoid her forever, and I know that. But I want to. I don't even know anymore what I'll say or how I'll feel when we finally do speak.

The truth is I'm afraid that talking to her will be what finally breaks me into pieces, and I don't want to be in pieces. I'm scared that I haven't fully grasped the truth. I'm frightened that I'm still clinging to the notion that things like this just don't _happen_ to people like me. I'm terrified that I'll realize I'm still holding onto the old Isabella Dwyer, the structured girl who lives in an impenetrable bubble of rigidity.

In reality, deep down I know the bubble has popped. I'm _not_ that girl anymore.

I can't be.

I envy the fact that Edward seems so _together_; how he can appear so calm, cool and relaxed so much of the time we're together. It's like nothing at all affects him. That is, unless he's talking about Charlie. Those are the moments when his mask slips, and the dark circles beneath his eyes seem to speak to me of his sadness and loss.

But as much as Edward pushes, and encourages me to stop avoiding my family, there are some things he can't do. He might be useful at pushing me in the right direction, but he can't decide what comes next for me.

Unfortunately, it seems, neither can I. I have a house to live in. I have the car – err, truck, rather. A behemoth of a Chevy that was parked in Charlie's garage, and apparently is mine now, too. But I also need a job, because though I agreed with Edward's reasoning for moving into Charlie's home, I can't bring myself to use his money.

Since it seems I'm all about avoidance these days, I decide to add some more trivial, less important things to my list of needs. Like groceries. Groceries are easy. And a new bed set. Edward's right, sleeping on the couch isn't going to work. It's my house now, might as well start acting like it.

After a three hour trek through two different stores, I finally return home. Five trips up and down the back steps, and thirteen bags later, I throw my new comforter, sheets and pillowcases into the washing machine first. While those wash, I start to unload the groceries into the fridge and cabinets. There's not a lot left over, the fridge is pretty bare and the cabinets are just as empty. So it's up to me where things go. If I decide butter doesn't need to go in the butter tray, it won't go there. If I decide the box of Rice Krispies goes on the top of the fridge, that's where it goes.

This isn't the first time I've lived alone, but it is the first time the place I live belongs to me...well, at least in name. Before, I lived in my Mom and my—Phil's, condo. I still think Edward should have taken it when I offered... At the condo, everything already had a place, and I had to force myself into being okay with that. But now… the possibilities are endless. I smile as I put things in their spots, setting a pattern for myself. Everyone has their own ways, places things go. This is one part of my personality I just can't give up.

When I'm finished, I run into the laundry closet to check and then throw everything into the dryer. Next stop is the bathroom. Luckily, the organization and subsequent deep cleaning the bathroom and kitchen receives burns through most of the afternoon.

Walking back into the kitchen, I go to the dryer and grab the now toasty warm bed set and return to the living room, pushing forward. At the end of the hall, I look left and right, staring at the open door of the room where Edward and I had our 'scuffle', where he freaked out and pulled his gun on me. Then I look to my right, at Charlie's room. The door's still closed because I still haven't been able to bring myself to go in there. It feels wrong.

Determined, I turn back in the other direction and walk into the bedroom I'm officially claiming as my own. Edward's things are mostly cleared out, and the double bed looks oddly huge in such a small room. Even if it is smaller than the queen size I'm used to.

Dropping the warm ball of sheets and comforter in the middle of the bed, I turn around to inspect what's still here. There are shelves lining the wall above the long, dark wood dresser. Mostly all that remains there is dust, but on one shelf there's a trophy with a small boy holding a golden bat, poised to swing. Below him is a fake-wooden frame with a plaque that reads: _Edward Masen, M.V.P., The Chiefs, 1997_.

_Huh, guess he was a baseball player._

I smile, turn back to the bed and begin separating the balls of sheets and cases and comforter, placing the other items back on the dresser. I start to stretch the fitted sheet across the bed. I hook one corner and hurry to hook the other before it snaps back at me like a rubber band when, out of nowhere, the doorbell rings and the whole damn sheet flings across the room.

"What the hell?" I muse to myself, looking up in the direction of the door, like I'll be able to see through the wall and figure out who's there.

Giving the sheet a dirty look, I pad down the hallway to the door.

There's no peephole, and if I look out the window now, it'll be clear to whoever's out there that someone's here. I decide to take a chance. I pull open the deadbolt and twist the knob to open the door.

To my surprise, I find Edward standing in front of me with a nervous smile on his face. My heart stutters in my chest at the sight of him, because I never expected this. I stare, taking in his messy hair and the way those comfortable jeans sit just right on his hips. For a few seconds we don't speak, just kind of staring at each other.

"Uh, hey..." he trails off, looking behind him at the street and then slowly back at me.

"Hi."

"I, uh," he says, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. My eyes move to watch his fingers. _That's definitely how it gets so messy... _"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"What?" I snap my gaze back to his face, afraid he'll know I was only half paying attention. "Oh, yeah... I'm, uh, okay. Thank you."

He shoves his hands in his pockets, fingers plunging deep until they're cut off by his thumbs and can go no further. Looking down at his shoe, he scuffs his foot across the edge of the well-worn 'Welcome' mat and clears his throat.

"Okay, good. Well then... I'm just," he jerks his thumb behind him, "gonna go. I'll see you tomorr—"

"Did you want to come in?" I blurt out, cutting him off.

His eyes widen and he stares at me, I don't think he expected me to ask him that. But when do I ever do anything he expects? For a second he searches behind me, eyes jumping between the door, to its frame and then back to the ground before he shrugs one shoulder and nods.

I step back, pulling the door open wider and he walks in. As he moves past, his arm brushes mine. It's such a simple thing, but it makes me want to reach out, grab him, and beg him to do it again. Turning quickly, I shut the door and take a deep breath.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he says.

I turn, pushing out a nervous laugh and walk past him, back in the direction of the bedroom. "No, but you can make yourself useful, come on." I look back at him over my shoulder.

He follows me, hands still buried deep in his pockets as I lead him down the hall and into what I'm still assuming used to be _his _bedroom. I go back to my sheet, and he leans against the door frame, eyes following me as I start again.

When it snaps back for the third time, I hear him chuckle and look up at him with a scowl. What I find in his face surprises me. It's intense, and he's looked at me like that before – but last time, it was in anger. This time, it definitely doesn't feel that way. I don't understand it at all, but the burn I'm feeling from his gaze settles in my belly, making me a little warm.

Clearing my throat seems to snap him out of it; he straightens and walks into the room, shaking his head. "Let me help you," he says on a laugh.

"Fine," I say, throwing an edge in his direction.

With his assistance, we get the bed made and then I throw myself down on it with an exaggerated sigh. Edward leans against the dresser, burying his hands in his pockets.

I look up at him with a smile. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"So... this was your room?" I kind of want to ask him if he's ever had another girl in this bed, or maybe if there are any other dirty and depraved things that have happened here, but I hold it back. I'm not sure I want to know the answer. And I definitely don't want to hear about Edward with another girl. Though we've been together every day for the last week, there's been no mention of a girlfriend, now or in the past. Still, he's too pretty for there not to have been at _least _a few.

I've had my own fair share of boyfriends, one serious and a few that I wish had never come into my life. But nobody I'd say actually meant that much to me. The most recent was James, if you could even call him a boyfriend after a few dates and a couple of so-so makeout sessions. I don't miss him.

Something tells me Edward's the kind of guy that I would miss.

"Yeah," he replies. I shake my head at my own thoughts and stare back at the ceiling. That is so not what I need to be thinking about right now.

From the corner of my eye, I watch as his gaze wanders toward the hall, lingering on the closed door there. It makes my chest hurt, seeing the way his shoulders curl in and his fingers burrow deeper into his pockets. I'm witnessing one of his moments, one where that mask slips away and his body radiates despair.

I can't imagine how hard this must be, being in the place where you grew up and realizing that nothing inside it technically belongs to you anymore. That all of the memories you had and the things you may have wanted could just disappear with someone else's decision. But then I realize that I kind of do understand how he feels. Though our situations are different, everything I still have access to, all of my memories, are tainted with lies and deceit because of my mother's choices.

Though there's probably no way for me to get back what I've lost, I can at least try to give him back some of what he has.

"If there's, you know, anything here you want..." I whisper to the ceiling, trying to hide the anguish in my voice. "I want you to have it."

Edward looks around for a second, like he's taking in a mental picture of everything that's open to him now. He looks back at me then, and his expression is soft. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course," I say, sitting up. "This was... these _are_ your things. And this was your house. I want you to have your stuff. His… things, too. Charlie's, I mean."

"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice thick. "I... really appreciate that."

"Sure, no problem," I shrug, trying to stay calm and not show him that I hate seeing him look so sad. And that I'd do just about anything to change it.

Silence settles over us, and I'm still not sure what there is to say or do next. I scoot to the edge of the bed and stand, turning around so I can straighten the lumps I've created in the comforter. I'm still trying to figure out what to say. _What about food? Food i__s good, right? What's that saying? Feed a man… starve a… no, wait. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach? That's the one.  
_  
When I turn back and look up, Edward's eyes are much lower than I expect. I clear my throat and my weight shifts between one foot and then the other. I cross my hands in front of me and then release them, not quite sure what to do with the fact that he was obviously staring at my butt.

His gaze lifts slowly, and I can almost feel his stare crawling across my skin. When his eyes finally reach mine again, he's all pouty lips and green eyes and messy hair. And, god, it's hard not to let my mind return to what it would be like to kiss him.

Like he's been woken up, he straightens and lifts one hand from his pocket to his hair, running his fingers through it. His eyes shift to the floor as I squeeze past him and walk to the doorway.

I turn my head, looking at him from over my shoulder. "Are you hungry?"

* * *

**He totally checked out her butt. And what comes next for Bella? She's settling in, but there's still a big issue to deal with. Edward's words are truer than she realizes at the moment. You can't avoid things forever. But who can blame her when there's a pretty boy showing up unexpectedly on her doorstep? Find out more next Tuesday night. :)  
**  
_You guys have seriously just blown me away. I _know_ I say it every time, but I'm still a little bit in shock over your support for this story and these characters. It really does mean the world to me. Thank you._

**Leave some love, and I'll do my best to send you something juicy in return.**

_xx_


	10. Chapter 10

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

**

* * *

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Edward smiles at my question and nods his head, acquiescing easily. A little stunned at his uncomplicated acceptance, I lead the way into the kitchen. He's so at ease here, his steps sure and even because he knows all of the house's nooks and crannies already. It's nice knowing he feels comfortable here; it makes me feel more comfortable, too.

I spend the walk to the kitchen contemplating. I've offered him food, but after a day of shopping and cleaning I don't know that I have the patience to make anything complicated. Sometimes simpler is better, and I decide quickly that sandwiches are the best option. I busy myself immediately once we reach the kitchen, grabbing ingredients from the fridge and the bread from the counter.

Edward links his fingers together and lays his forearms against the edge of the counter opposite me, watching me as I begin to lay things out.

I start to open the loaf of bread, and then look up at him. "I didn't really plan on making anything tonight, so I hope this is alright..." He nods. "One or two?"

"Just one's fine."

I turn back to the cabinet and grab two plates and then begin to put everything together. "This okay?" I ask, holding up the package of ham.

"Do you have mayo?" He makes this cute little pouty face and I momentarily stop to stare at his bottom lip.

It's criminal how attractive he is without even trying.

I shake my head and then realize what he's asked. "Oh! Yes." I turn, pulling open the fridge to grab it. Trying to distract myself, I slide to the side to snag a knife from the drawer.

Once everything is put together, I pass the plate across the counter to him. Without hesitating, he sinks his teeth into the soft freshness. It takes me just that second to realize I've never seen him eat anything but pancakes before this. It's a silly thought, but I hope I'll have the chance to see him eat other things in the future.

I turn back to the fridge to grab two fresh bottles of water and then return to the counter, setting one across from him.

"Thank you," he mumbles around a bite.

I pick up my own sandwich and take a tentative bite. We each stay on our opposite sides of the room; my hip leans against the oven, my socked feet crossed at the ankles. I suddenly feel self-conscious: I'm not sure where to put my hands, how slowly to chew. Though this boy has seen me scarf down pancakes with loads of butter, for some reason this feels more intimate.

Edward wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and cracks open his bottle of water to take a sip.

"You're settling in here," he says, glancing around the room.

I look around, wondering how his eyes perceive the small changes I've made. "Yeah, I'm trying."

"It's nice."

"What do you mean?"

"It was so strange the first time I came back here...after, I mean. Not hearing the sound of a baseball or a football game, or his laugh—" His face falls, for just a second and then he corrects it quickly, offering me a weak smile. "It's just nice to see this place lit up again."

"Yeah?" I question, my eyes roaming the kitchen and beyond, into the dining room and further toward the living room. It makes me happy knowing that he's okay with me being here; with me trying to make this my home.

"Yeah."

"It's weird," I tell him. "I've never really lived by myself before." I'm still not sure if I want to share the details of last night with him, or tell him how thankful I am for his arrival to keep my behavior from repeating itself. "I've always had a roommate, and everything was done for me. There was always someone there to offer their opinion. Now it feels like it's up to me. I like it, but it's scary."

"Do you miss it?" he asks.

"Miss what?"

"Your own home, your family, your job. Anything?"

I do miss Rose and of course, Emmett. His ability to make me smile is too good not to miss. As for the other things, I'm not so sure.

"Yeah, some things," I admit after a pause. "My friends mostly."

He nods, taking another sip of his water. "The other stuff?"

"I definitely do not miss my job," I reply, conveniently avoiding the topic of my family.

"What did you do?"

I laugh, but there's no humor in it. What a loaded question. I'm honest and I tell him the truth: that I worked for daddy's company, and I never want to see another city permit or construction contract again. Off-handedly I think about my favorite class in college – art appreciation. My professor was young, so close to my age, and she and I would always sit and talk about our similar tastes. It was so nice to be able to discuss that with someone.

In an ideal world, maybe I would work at a gallery... or maybe even run one.

"I'm not exactly sure what I want to do," I say, omitting that having this much freedom is a new thing for me. For some reason, I don't want him to see me as weak.

"So… something new," he says. "What do _you _want to do, Bella?"

I look down, surprised at how easily he sees through me sometimes. "I really have no idea right now."

He takes another bite, and swallows before he says, "You should talk to Alice again."

I blush, looking down at my own half-eaten sandwich. We haven't talked about my run-in with Alice, but I'm sure she's probably shared details with him. They seem close. Suddenly I feel like I should apologize.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped by talking to her," I tell him.

He shakes his head. "You didn't. Alice is…well, she's a bit of a meddler. She's just very crafty about it." He makes an unamused sound in the back of his throat and rolls his eyes.

"She was nice," I offer.

"She's great. Just a little pushy at times."

"That's okay, sometimes I need a little push."

"Don't we all?" he muses.

"Yeah," I say. "I guess we do. She said she's known you a long time."

"She has, I think we met in elementary school."

"She reminds me a little bit of Rosalie. Less cussing though. Lots less."

He chuckles. "That's your friend from back home, right?"

I nod. "My best friend since first grade."

For some reason, his face gets a little dark. Instead of saying anything more, he takes his empty plate and moves around to my side of the kitchen. He turns on the faucet and begins rinsing the dish in the sink. I'm not sure what I did or said, but the atmosphere in the room has changed to awkward. Something seems to have shifted, like my comment about Rosalie being my best friend might have hit a nerve. I felt it, so I'm sure he did, too. I have no idea why that particular piece of information means anything to him.

It makes me a little anxious, as most interactions with Edward do.

I walk over to the sink to with my own plate, trying to take the job from him. He blocks my body with his and laughs quietly at me.

"You don't have to do that. Just leave it… I'll get it later."

"What's the matter," he says, turning his head to look at me. "Afraid I won't get it clean enough?" His eyes are teasing and the small smirk on his face causes me to glare at him.

"Very funny."

"I do my best." He grins at me then, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. I relax, too.

I shake my head at him and smile down at the floor. He finishes washing both plates and places them into the drying rack on the left side of the sink, turning around and leaning against it. He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at me closely. I'm not sure what to say, but I can feel the heat in his gaze again. I reach over and uncap my water, taking a large sip, all the while trying to avoid his gaze.

From the corner of my eye I see him uncross his arms and place his hands behind him on the sink He doesn't move much, but somehow he's much closer now and it's like I can feel him. It's not any closer than we've been to each other before – heck, we sit right across from each other every day at the diner – but this feels different. Suddenly I'm uncomfortable.

And, though I don't want him to leave, I'm not quite sure why he decided to stop by here. It's Friday night, and I'm almost positive he doesn't want to spend his entire evening in my kitchen.

"You don't have to stay here," I say. "I'm sure you have more exciting things to do tonight."

"Not really," he replies, running his fingers through his hair.

"Mmm. I highly doubt that."

He laughs. "I'm serious!"

"No dates lined up?" I blurt out the question and then curse myself. I'm not sure I really want to know the answer to that question.

"Not this week," he says.

My shoulders fall and I look back at the floor. "Ah."

"Trying to get rid of me already?" He ducks his head, trying to catch my eyes.

"No!" I insist. "No, it's just…" I trail off, unsure how to finish . I'd like to tell him the truth, that there's nowhere in the world I'd like for him to be but here with me; that I feel like we could be more than friends. But I'm sure neither of us are ready for that step yet.

"Just what?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, you can't do that!" he says, and there's laughter in his voice.

"I don't know," I mumble, looking down at the floor again.

"Hey," he says softly, waiting until I look up at him to continue. "If there were another place I wanted to be right now, I would be there, Bella. But there isn't."

His eyes are intense, and I can't look away. I try to fight it, but I can't and my cheeks lift into a smile. His do too, and I'm sure we look like two goofs, just standing in the kitchen smiling at each other like idiots.

Edward steps away from the sink and turns, using his hands to boost himself up. He perches on the edge of the counter and kicks his legs out in front of him.

"I'm glad you're here," I admit, leaning my body against the counter to his left and glancing in his direction.

"Good."

**x-x****-x**

The weekends are my only days without Edward, so today, I'm taking his advice. I'm going to see Alice.

I'm a little bit scared, but I trust Edward enough to believe he won't steer me in the wrong direction. He seems to understand what I'm trying to do, and if I can't trust him with something like this, then our friendship is doomed.

She's out in front of the boutique smoking a cigarette when I pull my truck down First Street. She watches me as I park, taking the final puff of her smoke before dropping it into an outdoor ashtray. She smiles and offers a slight wave of her hand as I grab my things and get out of the truck. I check to make sure it's locked (like anyone would bother trying to steal it) and make my way around front.

From inside the open door of the shop, I can hear piercing laughter float out.

"Teenagers," she says in explanation, rolling her eyes.

I smile and peer through the door behind her. Against one of the far walls there are two girls holding shirts and dresses up to their bodies in the mirror.

"Fun," I tell her with a small laugh, shifting my gaze back to hers.

"Edward said you might come by," she says, motioning for me to follow her into the shop. I trail behind her, clutching my purse into my side as she looks over at the girls. "Hey, Claire? Your dad will be back soon. You better make a choice."

"I know," she whines. The young girl (I'm guessing she must be Claire) has dark hair and dark skin. When she finally makes a choice, there's this smile that lights up her entire face that looks oddly familiar.

I'm lost in trying to place her when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn to investigate, and the smile I'm greeted with puts everything into perspective_. Of course_. Claire is her father's daughter for certain.

"Isabella," Jacob says, placing his large hand on my shoulder and offering a squeeze. He smiles. "It's nice to see you again."

"You, too," I murmur.

"I see you've met my daughter." He motions with his chin toward the girl, and then whispers, "It's her birthday."

"Hey Jake," Alice says.

Jacob waves and turns from me to the girl. "Claire? Have you chosen yet? Ma's waiting."

"Yes, dad!" she replies testily with a roll of her eyes, handing the pink dress in her hands off to Alice.

"Then let's go, birthday girl." He ushers with his hands. The interaction between them makes my chest tight, and I begin to wonder if this is how it would have been with Charlie. Would he have taken me to a place like this to buy me a dress for my birthday. ? If only he'd been given the chance.

I step off to the side while Alice rings them up, trying to shake the thoughts of Charlie from my mind. Alice has already seen me lose it once,once; it wouldn't do for me to let myself fall apart again.

I watch as Claire offers her a huge hug and (what I'm sure in teenager speak) equates to several 'thank you's' before they finally head for the exit.

I'm still standing awkwardly in the middle of the store, not quite sure what to say or do. Lucky for me, Alice doesn't seem to have a problem with awkward situations. She moves to straighten the racks left in disarray by the girls and smiles at me.

"So," she says casually. "Edward said you were looking for a job."

I nod and bite my lip, nerves fluttering in my belly. "Yeah."

"Well, you're in luck, I'm actually looking for someone to cover afternoons here in the shop while I work on opening a sister store in Seattle. You think you can handle that?"

My eyes widen and I stare at her in disbelief. "Are you serious? You don't even know me—"

"Pshhh," she waves her hand and shrugs. "I have a good feeling about you."

I look around, considering her offer. Is this really what I want to do? I'm not exactly an expert on helping others try on and pick out clothes. Honestly, I'm not even sure I can handle working so closely with someone I don't know. Can I handle not being in charge of where things go and how things are done?

The honest truth is, I don't know.

...But I want to.

So yes, yes I can. I tell myself again that I can do anything I want. And this I want to try.

_Even if I can't do it, at least I'll know I tried something different._

"Yes," I tell her, my smile huge. "Yes. Thank you."

"Great! When can you start?"

"Umm... now?" It's not like I have much else to do that would put off my start date, and I'm kind of excited now to try.

She laughs. "I can tell we're going to be great friends," Alice says, smiling at me.

**x-x-x**

I'm so excited on Monday morning I don't know what to do with myself. I don't even stop to think or worry if things will be at all awkward between us after Edward's impromptu visit on Friday. I can't wait to get to the diner, to see him. Two days is too long.

I want to thank him, to tell him how much I'm enjoying learning something new. For what feels like the first time in a long time, I'm giddy.

As I drive, my mind plays swatches of my weekend on a continuous loop. After we began on Saturday, Alice had been so patient with my slightly compulsive need to know everything all at once. She laughed at the way I wrote down everything she said, but also told me she appreciated my thoroughness. She said I reminded her of how she'd acted when she'd first opened the shop and had to figure out everything that went into making it a success.

Learning how to do something new and so out-of-the-ordinary (for me) was nerve wracking, but it was also _fun_.

After parking the truck on First Street, I nearly run into the diner in my excitement. Seeing him there, waiting for me, causes my smile to grow even bigger than it was before.

Making my way to the table, I can't help but flash back to Friday and what a surprise it'd been to see his face at my door. It had been nice talking to him after dinner, trading nonsense questions about favorite colors and prom dates. When he'd finally headed home around midnight, I'd fallen into bed with a smile on my face and the slight scent of him on my sheets, from where he'd helped me make my bed earlier that day.

I'm determined not to let things get weird between us. Talking to each other like two normal people, without huge issues and past hurts between them, was a big step for us.

Taking my seat, I don't stop to think about it before tossing my purse carelessly next to me. It's such an uncommon thing for me to do; something could fall out on the floor or break. But damn, it feels good to feel so free.

Edward watches my movement, and then looks back at me with a questioning expression on his face. "What's gotten into you?" he asks.

"I got a job!"

"Really?" He arches an eyebrow, lifting his cup to his lips and taking a sip.

"Really." I nod. "Thank you, Edward. I don't know what I would have done if it weren't for your suggestion."

He smiles, a hint of pink lighting in his cheeks as he looks down at his lap. "You're welcome. So it worked out then?"

"Yep. Alice is cool," I say, trying to taper off my excitement as I bounce slightly in my seat. "And I like it so far. Learning about everything that goes on behind the scenes in a store like that...it's fun. I just hope Alice doesn't get sick of me asking questions."

He smirks and laughs a little, covering his mouth with his hand. "You are so much like Pops," he says to himself. Before I can ask what he means he continues, "I'm glad you like it. I knew she was looking for someone. It's great that you two were able to make it work."

Mrs. Cope comes to the table, asking to share in what's got me so excited. After telling her what's going on, she declares our need for celebratory pancakes and disappears behind the counter like usual.

As much as I don't want to be, I'm kind of excited that once I leave here, I'll have a purpose. I've got somewhere to go and something to do that's just for me and nobody else. For weeks now I've felt a little bit lost, with nothing to ground me except for...well, Edward. But now it's not just him that ties me to this place. I'm making roots of my own and settling into this new life.

It feels great, and I hope things stay this way, that they remain this easy.

"How was the rest of your weekend?" I ask, shifting the focus off of me.

He shrugs. "It was okay."

I cock my head to the side in question. "Just okay?"

"Yeah, just okay." His eyes wander, settling on a spot behind me. I hate the look on his face, the one that clearly shows there's something he isn't telling me. I want him to trust me, but I don't want to push.

"Thanks, by the way... you know, for Friday," I tell him, and his eyes snap to mine. "I mean for checking on me and stuff. You didn't have to do that."

"It was no problem."

"When did you want to come back?" I blurt out, before slapping my hand across my mouth and blushing furiously. "I mean...to uh, get that stuff? Not that— not that I want it gone or anything. I was just..." _Shit. Shit shit shit._ I have no idea why I'm asking him. I mean, surely if he wanted to come back, he'd let me know.

Mrs. Cope comes by to drop off our pancakes and the conversation drops off as we both busy ourselves with food. I feel like a complete idiot for spewing that out. _Maybe he doesn't want me there with him while he goes through Charlie's things?_

Every few seconds, I glance up at him, hoping he'll say something. Instead he stays quiet, and it feels like, with every minute that goes by, it's getting worse. I continue to watch him, the way his jaw moves and twitches as he chews. How his lips glisten with the oil from the butter and his tongue darts out to clear it away after every bite.

That is, until he misses a spot. I giggle and he looks up at me in question.

"You've got something..." I say, motioning to my lips to show him what I mean. And then, on impulse, I lean across the table and put my finger to his mouth, "Right here."

My finger slides across his lip, catching the drop of butter that's been left behind from his bite of pancake. Without thinking about it, I pull my finger away and slide it into my own mouth. My eyes close, and I can't help the image that pops into my head: that by touching his lips and then touching my own – somehow, I'm kissing him.

I have to fight to hold in the excited sound that bubbles in my throat. When my eyes open and I look back at him, I blush.

His mouth is hanging open, and his eyes… His eyes are on my lips. I blush harder, wanting his eyes to be there.

Even more than that, I'd really like for his lips to be there.

"Thanks," he says, curling his hand into a fist. He presses it to his lips as he coughs and then clears his throat. I can almost feel the awkwardness coming off of him in waves. _Great._

I try to smile it away as I pick up my fork and take another bite of my own pancake. I stare down at my plate, waiting for him to say something...or to leave. It would suck, but anything would be preferable to the mortification I'm feeling right now.

Edward sets his fork down. I hear his throat clear again, drawing my eyes up to his. "Can I come by on Friday?"

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**I can't tell you how sorry I am for not replying to reviews this last chapter. If you're not on Twitter, you probably don't know that I've been under the weather for a few weeks now, first my back and now I'm pretty sure I have the plague or something equally as yucky. I've been in bed quite a bit trying to get better. Thank you to each and every one of you for leaving your kind words and encouragement. ILY guys.**

_xx_


	11. Chapter 11

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

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**Friday: I'd been both looking forward to and dreading this day all week. Seriously, I see the guy just about every day, but the idea of being _alone _with Edward has me buzzing. I feel like there's a big ball of nervous, excited and scared-to-death energy bouncing through my body all at the same time.

I know it's because I've had time to think about what could happen; to dwell and to wonder what this will be like. Leaving my mind time to detail every possibility is never the best idea. It'd been such a surprise last time he'd come here that I didn't even have time to freak out. This time, I do.

My foot taps as my eyes bounce from once item to the next, taking inventory of where everything is. Even though I know tonight is about him, and it's more than likely he won't need (or want) my help, I can't stop myself from needing to be prepared.

Throughout the week, my mornings had been filled with Edward; my afternoons with Alice and my job, plus all the learning that went into it. Or meeting new people in town: Like Emily, Jacob's wife. And Kate, Jasper's cousin.

It seemed there were a lot of connections here. Everyone knew everyone, meaning keeping secrets was next to impossible. Really, it shouldn't have surprised me when most of them already knew who I was even before I'd had a chance to introduce myself. But it _did_. The first time it happened at the boutique I freaked out to the point that I'd had to ask Alice to take over the sale so I could go into the back room and calm down. Discovering that all of these people had figured out who I was just by looking at me was so... weird.

It appeared that since my arrival, word had spread like wildfire. Rumors had grown. And now everybody had made the connection.

Edward wasn't Charlie's only family.

Though no one had been forward enough to ask any questions, I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to explain the truth to someone. I wasn't sure about so many strangers knowing my business, especially when so much of what was going on was still up in the air.

And definitely when I hadn't even had the nerve to find out some of those answers for myself.

Then there was the fact that the one person I wanted to ask questions had stopped calling altogether. Though I was happy about it, I did wonder when my mother would pop up again... or if I would eventually work up the courage to seek _her _out. After two days without a call, I spoke to Rosalie. She said she hadn't heard anything either, and that the phone calls to the condo had dropped off as well.

Rose sounded so interested in what was going on in Port Angeles, seeming so very different from her normal blasé attitude about things going on in my life. She admitted she missed having me around, and that the old adage is true: sometimes you don't realize what you've lost until it's gone. When I admitted that I missed her, too, she shushed me, saying she understood my reasons for not coming back. We ended the call with her promising to send some of my things to me soon.

In order to make up for some of the chaos in my life, while my days were filled with Edward and work, my evenings were spent cleaning, organizing, and rearranging things that didn't need rearranging. On Wednesday, after I'd moved the couch for a third time, I had to physically make myself stop from doing anything else by sitting on my hands.

On Thursday, three boxes arrived from Rose. I dug into them eagerly, glad that it had at least given me something productive to do.

With my things in place, I finally began feeling more like this was _my_ home. There was still so much of Charlie in every corner, but, in some weird way, his things were now part of what I counted as mine, too. I was determined to let the sight of his empty recliner in the living room, the lines of fishing lures in the workroom out back, become part of _me_ as well.

For the first time ever I was making my own decisions – living my own life. I didn't have anyone to answer to, and I wasn't seeking approval from anyone but myself.

It felt so good to wake up in the morning and realize that I wanted to get out of bed. I wanted to go meet Edward for breakfast. I wanted to go work with Alice. I wanted to meet new people, even if they might know more about me than I would like.

A knock from the back door brings my attention there. I make my way over, and my heart feels like it's leaping in my chest, doing somersaults and cartwheels in the tiny space.

On the other side of the door is Edward, with boxes and that same gorgeous smile I like so much. I sigh in relief, instantly comforted by his presence, and smile back at him.

"Hey," I say, taking him in. He's wearing a thermal, and I don't even want to think about the way it hugs every curve just right. On the bottom he's got those same jeans on again. They're so worn in some places, it's like parts of him are begging to be set free.

"Hi," he replies, shifting his feet. My gaze wanders slowly back up to his face. He's grinning, and I've clearly been caught ogling. I bite my lip, giving him a half-smile because for once I don't mind being caught.

"Come in." I motion with my hand, suddenly remembering my manners. He starts to step inside when I continue, "You didn't need to knock, you know."

He laughs and looks at me from over his shoulder while stepping inside. "Yes I did. This isn't my house."

"Okay, okay, whatever. But I _was_ expecting you. You didn't _have_ to knock, just saying." It seems too presumptuous to add _you know, for next time_, so instead I keep my mouth closed.

Edward sets the boxes in his hands down on the dining room table. From behind him, I watch the movement of the lines of muscle along his shoulders as his back shifts beneath the material hugging his upper body. One hand goes to his hair and the other buries itself in his pocket. He turns and looks at me, and as per usual, I'm not sure what to do or say. Should I ask if he wants help? Offer him a drink maybe? _Me, perhaps?_

I shake my head. I don't know what it is about this boy that gets me thinking inappropriate things, but for some reason, I can't seem to stop myself. I don't even know if I want to anymore.

"Did you," I begin, and then pause as my thoughts offer up something less innocent than what's appropriate. "Uh, have an idea where you wanted to start?"

Edward's gaze shifts to the hallway and he sighs. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip before he looks back at me. "I guess in his room."

I nod and look down, twisting my fingers in the material of my shirt. "Okay, well... if you need anything, let me know. I'll be in here." With my hand, I gesture to the living room.

He sets the box down on the recliner, his expression surprised. I watch as his eyes dart back and forth between me and the closed door in the hallway. That easy demeanor from earlier begins to fade. "You're not— you don't want to help?"

"No, no," I rush to explain. "I— I don't mind helping. I just... don't want to impose."

"I'd like it," he stops, and I watch his Adam's apple bob before he looks down at the floor and then back up at me. "I'd like you to help."

"Okay," I whisper.

Edward reaches up, running his fingers through his perpetually messy hair again. "I figured maybe we could, umm... box up some of his clothes, and I could take them to Goodwill. I mean, I'm sure you don't want his things just taking up space here."

I look at him, at the sad look on his face and wonder what could have possibly made him think that. I don't mind Charlie's things being here. I shake my head, my mouth opening like a fish out of water a few times before I'm able to tell him how I feel, "I don't mind his things being here."

Edward nods, but doesn't reply.

"Are you sure you want me to help?" I ask, suddenly nervous about doing this with him. There's a reason I've steered clear of that room.

"Please."

His voice is thick, and I feel a heavy weight on my chest as I glance in his direction and see the expression on his face. There's no lingering lightness or any hint of happiness in his eyes. His body radiates sadness, and I know I should understand how difficult this is for him. I know this should bother me as much as it bothers him.

It makes me feel cold, callous even, that it doesn't affect me the same way. I feel like... nothing. Like there just _is _no feeling inside me. And that hurts, because I should feel. I should hurt. I _should_ be sad.

Right now, though, I have to be strong. For him.

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath in through my nose. Letting it out, I walk toward Edward and hold my hand out for his. We can do this. Together. Me and him. He's been there for me for the past several weeks; he's helped me. Now it's my turn to repay the favor.

He follows the movement of my hand, and, after a few seconds of staring, he reaches out and returns the gesture. Ever so slowly, he curls that part of himself around me. The warmth his touch brings feels like comfort and familiarity. It feels... _right_.

"Thank you," he whispers, looking at me, the green of his eyes shimmering in the low light.

"This is what friends are for, right?" I squeeze his hand.

Edward grabs the boxes from the table with his free hand without releasing his hold on me. I turn away and lead us down the hall to Charlie's room. I take a deep breath in and squeeze my eyes as I turn the knob to push the door open. One step at a time, I pull Edward inside behind me. We're both quiet Sass we stand next to each other in front of the bed and take everything in.

I turn, around one way and then the other, taking in the details. While Edward may have been here hundreds, maybe thousands of times over his lifetime, this is my first glimpse. The room is very plain, the walls painted a light blue color that reminds me of the sky on a cloudless day. On one side of the bed there's a nightstand full of magazines like _Sport Fishing _and _USA Today_. Next to the magazines sits a pair of glasses. They look lonely – if it's possible for a pair of glasses to be lonely. They serve as an eerie reminder of the man who's no longer here to wear them.

Edward drops the boxes in his hand on the bed, and his grip on my hand tightens for just a second before it's gone. He walks around the bed, picking the glasses up and holding them in his palm, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. I pretend not to notice the tremble of his hand as I look up at his face, watching him stare pensively. It's such a small thing to witness, but there's longing in his stare. Moreso than I've ever seen from him before.

Wanting to give him some privacy I turn away, biting my lip and continuing to take in the things around me. The bed is made, with a bright and colorful quilt laid over the top.

Against the wall to our left there's a dresser with a mirror placed on top. The top of the dresser is mostly empty, save for a half-empty green bottle of aftershave and a few other small items. Seeing the bottle there reminds me of when I was a little girl, and I smile as a little idea pops into my head. With a sly grin, I walk over and pick up the bottle, turning it over in my hands. My fingers twist the cap, and the scent instantly wafts up to me.

I close my eyes, breathing it in. Crisp. Refreshing. Clean. Tipping the bottle until a small drop falls to the tip of my finger, I reach up and dab it across my neck. When I was younger, I never understood why I couldn't wear 'daddy's perfume'. It always smelled _so good_. So much better than my mom's – but of course, Renee would have none of her daughter smelling like a boy. _Take that, Mom._

Still smiling, I place the bottle right back where it was and turn around to find Edward watching me with a curious expression on his face. He raises his eyebrows.

"What are you doing?"

I blush and look down at the floor. "Nothing."

I hear him chuckle, but there's no humor in it. When I look back up, he's closer. He inhales and closes his eyes. "It still smells like him in here," he whispers quietly, and his face falls as he stares at the bottle. "He always smelled the same. Like gun oil and Brut."

My eyes move from his face, back to the bottle of aftershave on the dresser where his stare is focused. I don't like the look on his face, and I hate the feeling his words bring to my chest. Hate the realization they bring to me: I should know what Charlie smelled like. Things in this room should be as familiar to me as they are to Edward. I should know what magazines he liked and I should know who made that pretty quilt on his bed.

Irrational anger flares inside me and my hands tighten into fists. My fingernails press into the skin of my hands as I shake my head back and forth, as if the pain will push away the feelings of betrayal that have surfaced so suddenly. I still can't believe Renee did this to me. That she took this from me. From Charlie.

It's not fair that we never had a chance.

"It's not _fair_," I whisper without thinking.

Edward looks at me in question. His sad face tells me I should stop. While deep down I know this shouldn't be about me – that this is _his_ time, and if I want to be here, I need to be here for _hi_m and not the other way around –I can't stop the surge of anger. . "It's not _fair_ that I don't know that. I should know what he smelled like. I should know what magazines he liked, and that he wore glasses and I should know—"

With a strangled sound, I stop and place my hand over my mouth as tears clog my throat. I step back and my body sinks to the floor. My back rests against the side of the bed and I curl in on myself, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs.

My babbling continues as I bury my head into my legs. "Why did she do this? Why? It's not fair!"

My words stop immediately when I feel hands on my shoulders. Strong. Warm. He squeezes and slides his hands forward, down my arms until his fingers wrap around my own. He tugs; stubbornly I fight him, but he only holds tighter. For several minutes, he just holds me quietly, and I realize what he's doing. With a simple touch, and an even simpler squeeze, he's trying to tell me I can make it through this. That he'll help me.

My head rises slowly to find him squatting in front of me. His eyes roam my face, and the way he's looking at me makes the pain in my chest twist and shatter. I feel every piece stab and press against me, and it makes it even more difficult to breathe. I try to draw air into my lungs, but it's cut off when he releases one hand and, with careful movements, his fingers rise to my cheek.

Slowly, with trembling movements, he wipes one cheek with his thumb and then the other, taking away the tears he can catch. "Please don't cry..."

His eyes are intense, pleading. I wish I wasn't crying, wasn't breaking down in front of him. I know I shouldn't be doing this –it's not right to throw my grief onto him, not now.

I should be stronger. I should be in control.

"I'm sorry," I sniffle. "I'm so sorry. This isn't about me, this is about you. I'm sorry." My head drops again, and a sob escapes, loud in the eerily quiet room as it echoes against the walls. "I don't deserve to be this upset."

Edward makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, his hand tightening on mine to an almost painful level. "Don't you get it?" he asks, and his voice is angry.

I lift my head up again, slowly, and train my eyes on his. "Get what?"

"I had to watch him hurt because of what she did to him. Don't think you don't deserve to share in this. I know it's a shitty thing, but it's _ours_. And I won't begrudge what you're feeling. You have _every right _to be upset, Bella."

His eyes are so intense, his words fierce. I want to trust him, to believe that he means what he's saying, but it's hard.

"I know what you're doing, please don't doubt what I'm saying," he begs, squeezing my hand again for emphasis before dropping it. "Come on."

He stands, holding his hands out for mine. I look up through watery eyes, taking a deep breath. My hand lifts to his slowly, and he doesn't hesitate to grip me. He pulls me from the floor and I stand in front of him.

Unexpectedly, his arms wrap around me and pull me closer. It only takes me a second to get past the unexpected contact and for me to melt into him. He's big and strong, yet warm and comforting, all at once. With anyone else, I'd be shying away from this right now, but with him, I want to revel in it and soak up as much support as he's willing to give me.

My face settles into his chest, inhaling his scent, and relaxation begins to take over my body from his touch. I can't help but wonder his reasons, if he's doing this because he needs a shoulder to lean on – a friend – or if it's more. Greedily, I hope that it's because he's beginning to feel the same things that I am.

He buries his face in my hair, and I feel the tremble in his body as he sinks into me further, as if he's drawing the same feelings from having me so close to him. Quiet cries and whispered words of pain and loss spill out into the room around us.

"It's my fault…"

Confusion slams into me. I don't understand what he means. My hold on him tightens, and I can't stand the hurt in his voice. Pulling away, I lean back to look at him and lift my hand. My fingers press to his lips, stopping him from saying any more.

He reaches up and pulls my hand away, but keeps my fingers wrapped in his. "There's so much you should know," he tells me, as if he's reading my mind. "About me. About what happened to him."

Again, I'm wondering why he seems to blame himself for something he couldn't possibly have had anything to do with. I shake my head at him, too uneasy to speak. I don't know how much more I can handle tonight; my emotions feel raw and open and spent. And I know his are, too. One thing at a time. One day at a time.

"Another time, okay?" I swallow shakily, looking up into soft and supportive eyes.

"Another time," he agrees on a whisper.

He looks around, as if just noticing how close we've gotten. He steps away, and I remain in the same place as he moves around the bed. Without looking at me, he begins separating the boxes he brought with him and then silently offers one to me. He finally looks up then, giving me an uneasy smile as he peeks at me from beneath his lashes.

I accept the box from him and he clears his throat. He looks to the doorway and then back at me again. "I'm gonna run out to my truck and grab the rest of the boxes, okay?"

Nodding, I turn back to the dresser as I hear him leave. The door closes and I just kind of stand there in the quiet, looking at the few items before me. I don't really know what to put in the boxes and what to keep.

I'm not sure how much time passes before I'm shocked out of my dazed mood by the doorbell ringing.

Rolling my eyes, I turn my head to the door and laugh. _That fool._

I hurry out of the bedroom toward the front door, twisting the lock and pulling it open with an amused smile. "Why are you ringing the doorbell? Just because I said you didn't have to knock—"

The rest of my words die in my throat as I look at the person standing in front of me. The smile fades from my face quickly and my mouth opens in shock.

"_Mom_?"

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**Uh, yeah... please don't throw stones at the author for the cliffhanger. The next chapter will be up on Tuesday, like always. I promise! **

_Thank you to everyone reading, reviewing and making me smile with your wonderful words. You make me the happiest author on earth, for serious. I still suck at replying, but the good news is my plague is finally clearing up and I'm on the mend, thank goodness!  
_  
**As always, I love to hear from you. Leave some love and I promise this week you'll get a teaser in return.**

_xx_


	12. Chapter 12

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

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**My head swims dizzily. In an effort to keep myself upright, my fingers tighten around the doorknob in my hand. Shock flows through me at seeing her face, her pursed lips and narrowed eyes. I stare at her in disbelief and, though I try, I can't seem to make my mouth work. She looks out of place here, too well dressed with her perfect clothes and slicked back hair to be standing on Charlie's modest porch.

Her face is dark, a product of a fabulous vacation taken while my world fell down around me, blood red lips seeming too harsh against her tan. I look behind her, surprised that she's alone. It isn't often that she goes anywhere without my dad. I wish he _were_ here; something tells me he might be able to soften the blow that I'm positive isn't far off.

Renee glances at me quickly, and then beyond. Like she's searching for something. "Why haven't you been answering my calls?" she asks, her voice loud.

The few quiet seconds that pass are all it takes for me to remember what it's like to be afraid of my mother and her judgment of me. I swallow down the bile in my throat, fighting the instinct inside that begs for me to cower – to curl into a ball and cry for her forgiveness.

"Isabella?" she prompts, still looking for an answer to her question.

My stomach rolls and I step back, an overwhelming feeling of doubt coming over me. I want to answer her, to tell her the truth of why I'm here. But when my brain finally forces my mouth to work, all that comes out, in a voice that's far too weak, is, "What are you doing here?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you the same thing?" she replies, not even sparing a glance in my direction as she continues to search behind me. Her body sways back and forth in the smallest increments, searching for a glimpse at what's inside the house behind me. Finally her eyes settle back on me. She appraises my socked feet, jeaned hips and ratty t-shirted body with a familiar disdain that makes me feel about two feet tall. "_What_ are you wearing?"

"I—" I start, though I'm still not sure what to say. _How did she know I would be here? How did she find me?  
_  
Before I can ask, she cuts me off. "Where is he?"

I shake my head back and forth in confusion. "He who?"

"Don't play dumb with me, little girl." She pushes forward, her palms moving my body roughly to the side as she makes her entrance. "You know exactly who I'm talking about."

"What are you doing here?" I ask again, stumbling as I turn away from the door.

She ignores me, not hesitating as she begins to move through the house. Her heels click loudly across the wood floor. She steps into the kitchen, yelling, "Charlie!"

My eyes widen and my mouth drops open in shock. She turns back in my direction and heads for the hallway, still screaming his name.

"I know you're here! Where is he, Isabella?" She glances at me quickly and then back to the hallway. I don't quite know what to say, how to react. She's acting so foolish right now, something I've never been able to say to her. It's obvious she has no idea, that she doesn't know he's dead. But I don't know how to put it into words.

If I were braver, if I'd had time to put together what I would say when I saw her again, this would be easier. I'd be able to tell her the truth right now: that the reason I didn't answer her calls is because I wasn't ready for her answers. That the reason I'm here is ultimately because of her. That she's making a fool of herself, because no matter how loud she screams or how long she searches, there's no way she'll find Charlie in this house.

The back door slams and Edward's footsteps sound out before I see him walk through the dining room unassumingly. He freezes mid-step, his head snapping to the left when he hears Renee's latest bellow. He jumps back in surprise at the sound, the boxes in his hands falling to the floor in a heap. For just that brief second, as I watch him with terrified eyes, the mask isn't on and the sadness he feels hearing Charlie's name is evident on his face.

As if in slow motion, his eyes move from my mother to me in question. If I could, I would shelter him from this. I would hide him away from what's happening. I try to fight the embarrassment I can feel flooding through every piece of me, because now I want to curl into a ball for a different reason.

I don't _want_ him to see this part of me. I don't _want_ him to witness the weakness I feel in front of her. I want to be _strong_. For once in my life, I want to stand up for myself.

I have to. Now or never.

"Mom," I say, rushing toward her. My eyes stay on Edward, hoping he can read the apology in them. "Mom!" I look at her, screaming louder. I try to grab her hand so she'll focus her attention on me but she shakes me off.

I grab for her again, squeezing her arm tighter. She finally stops, turning to look at me. Her lips curl as her eyes travel around the room. "Where _is_ he, Isabella?"

"He's not here," I whisper, at a loss for how else to explain.

She stares at me, and once again I have to fight the urge to curl in, but it's difficult. My mother has always been the one to hold me together when I needed someone; both of my parents were. Old habits die hard. I have to remind myself she's not that person anymore.

"What do you mean 'he's not here?'"

Again I have no idea what to say. I open my mouth a few times, about to correct her or admonish her for being so rude, but I only end up closing it every time I try. As if he can sense my need for support, Edward steps forward, his eyes still on my mother as he makes his way in my direction. His sinewy limbs and long legs capture my attention. Watching him serves as a good distraction from what's actually happening right now and his presence serves as a reminder for me to stay strong.

"Who's this?" Renee asks, forgetting her earlier question all together. Her eyes soften, and the look she gives him doesn't have any of the same malice or annoyance it did when she was speaking to me, or looking for Charlie. She's trying to be sweet, but I can see what she's hiding underneath. She's like a lion that smells the scent of fresh meat in the air and she's about to go in for the kill. Her eyes dart between Edward and me. I turn to look at him, my eyes apologetic and thankful all at once.

I motion in his direction. "This is Edward."

Before I can ask her again what she's doing here —to try and steer the conversation away from Edward and back to what matters — she speaks again.

"Do _you _know where Charlie is, Edward?" She purrs the question and I gasp, my hand flying up to cover my mouth.

My gaze snaps to his. The anger I've seen before – directed at me, in the beginning – is nothing compared to the absolute hatred I see blazing there now. His jaw tenses, the vein in his forehead standing out prominently. It's brutal, but I can tell he's trying to hold back. His fists curl at his sides, his upper body shaking with unreleased tension.

In an effort to calm him, I remove my hand from my mouth and reach back blindly for his, hoping I can do for him what he's done for me in the past. I wrap my hand around his fist, my finger moving soothingly along the tight skin of his knuckles. Ever so slowly his breathing slows, his fingers unfurling only to wrap around my own. He doesn't reply; whether it's because he doesn't know what to say, or because he's afraid of what he might let loose, I'm not sure.

"Well isn't that cozy," Renee snarls, her eyes now on our joined hands.

I draw in a deep breath. Her venomous sounding voice sparks the hurt, anger and every bit of confusion I've felt over the last four weeks. It's been inside of me this whole time, tamped down by my initial fear of her. For a second, I can't speak, because I don't know if I'll yell or if I'll cry once my mouth is open. But I can't let her do this. She's not in charge anymore. This is _my_ life.

"Stop it," I snap at her, stepping forward in challenge. "You have _no idea_ what's going on."

"What _is _going on, Isabella?"

My nostrils flare and my vision blurs. I've never felt anger this hot before. The irate words are out before I can stop them. "Tell me something, Mother... Who's my father?" I spit out, shaking off Edward's hand. I step closer to her, so close I can feel her breath on my face. My eyes are on hers, hard and demanding. "What? No response? Let me tell you what I know then. Let me tell you exactly what's going on, _Mother_."

"Did he contact you? Did Charlie contact you?" she interrupts. "He was supposed to stay away from you."

"Be quiet, I'm not finished!" I yell, cutting her off. Her eyes widen; she blinks and sputters and her mouth falls open, closed and then open again. She's clearly surprised.

"Since you can't seem to answer the question, let me answer it for you. You wanted to know what I'm doing here? Well, you disappeared with dad, off on some stupid vacation, and I got this really weird phone call informing me that I've been named in the will of a man I don't even know. So, I try to get a hold of you guys. I thought maybe, just maybe, you knew him. That maybe our names got mixed up or something."

Renee blanches the slightest bit at my harsh tone and biting words. It's brief, but her hands shake for just the barest of seconds. That one small sign of vulnerabtility gives me the courage – the push – I need to move on.

"But I was wrong. There was no mix-up. And now… now I'm glad I couldn't get a hold of you, because you know me, compulsive little Isabella. I just _had _to know who he was. So I came here. And boy did I learn more than I bargained for!" I laugh humorlessly. "Were you ever going to tell me the truth?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Isabella." She waves me off turning her eyes away. I grab her hand and pull her attention back to me.

"Charlie's dead, Mom! My _father_ is dead. How could you _do this to me?_"

Renee's face doesn't seem to register my words, like it means nothing to her; like she never cared about Charlie at all, and by extension, me.

That realization is almost more than I can take. I can feel Edward's presence behind me; somehow, just knowing he's there gives me the strength I need to stay upright. Though I'm embarrassed to have him here witnessing this, if he weren't here, I don't know if I would have this same amount of courage.

"Do this to you?" she asks, still no spark of hurt or remorse on her face. "What are you talking about?"

"Yes, exactly. You did this to_ me_. He was my father, Renee!"

"What is this _Renee_ business? I'm your mother," she shouts back at me. It's a deflection, an excuse for her to continue her dishonesty, and I know it.

But I'm done. Done. "Not anymore you're not," I tell her bravely. "Not anymore."

"You will address me with respect, Isabella."

I laugh again, raising my face toward the ceiling. My hands lift into the air and my fists clench. "Respect? She wants respect," I mutter to myself. "Respect. Hah!"

"Yes. Respect."

My gaze returns to her and my upper body leans forward. "I respected you for my entire life. I trusted you! I had such a good childhood, and I believed in you. I gave you everything I could because I loved you. I let you pick my clothes, I let you pick where I would live, I let you and dad tell me what to go to school for. I even let you both decide what job I would have for the rest of my life. And then I find out that everything – every single thing I thought I knew – was a fucking lie! Everything!"

"You don't know what you're talking about." Her voice is dismissive and cold, and she turns from me as if I don't matter. And in that second I understand the truth – I _don't _matter. All that matters – all that's _ever_ mattered – is what's good for _her_. She doesn't care about me. She certainly never cared about Charlie.

"Don't I?" I spit, incensed at the way she's behaving. That I've given up so much of my life for someone who's completely heartless.

"No, you don't." She turns back slowly.

"Then enlighten me, _Mother_."

"It was for the best!" Her hand slaps over her mouth, like she didn't mean to let that slip. And finally, I see emotion there.

I hope it's regret. I hope she's beginning to see that she can't just treat people this way.

"How could you possibly believe that?" I shake my head, unable to process her claim.

"You don't know, Isabella. You don't know." Her voice is quiet, and I won't let her bring this on herself, make it about her. I won't feel sorry for her.

"Now's your chance to tell me," I reply coldly.

"You didn't need to end up in a small town, going _nowhere_. Married and pregnant with no future for yourself. I did what was necessary for you to have a _good_ life."

"That wasn't your choice to make," I scream, stomping my foot. Angry tears pool in my eyes and I blink through them. "Do you know what it did to him? Do you know what it's doing to _me_?"

"I don't _care _what it did to him, Isabella. He's not my concern. You are."

"That's right, _I am_. This _should _matter to you, Mom. He should have mattered to you."

"He doesn't. He never did."

The words make my stomach roll. I wrap my hands around my middle, trying to hold in the feeling of nausea. My heart breaks for Charlie, that he ever loved this woman. It breaks for Edward, that he has to stand here and listen to all of this.

But most of all, it breaks for my mom. What could have happened to make her this way?

"How can you be so… cold?"

"I'm just stating the truth. Charlie was a child, Isabella; we both were. He wouldn't have been able to take care of us like your father has. It was the best decision for all of us."

"Does he know?" I ask. "Does Dad know about this?"

"Of course he does," she says with a flippant wave of her hand, her eyes straying from mine. Something tells me she isn't being completely honest.

I have no more words to say. My gaze falls to the floor, tears falling from the mixture of emotions flowing through me. There's nothing left to do at this point. It's all true; her confirmation has only made it worse. I physically can't deal with this anymore. This night has been too much in too short a time.

At my back, I feel warmth, and then strong arms of comfort wrap around me. Edward pulls me into his chest and tightens his hold. I melt into him, fighting to stop the tears with the strength I feel coming from his body.

His presence behind me sparks a reminder in my veins. I don't want her to see me weak. I don't want her to see me cry. I just want her gone.

With every piece of courage I can muster I force myself to look at her once more.

"I want you to get the _fuck_ out of my house."

Edward squeezes me tighter to him as Renee's mouth falls open in shock. My own words surprise me, because this _is _my house now. It feels so right to tell her so. And I know she must be beside herself, finding out that her little Isabella isn't quite the perfect doll she thought I was.

She has nobody but herself to blame.

"You heard her, Renee," Edward says. I can feel his words vibrate through my back. "Get out."

"Excuse me," Renee sneers. "This is between me and my daughter. Stay out of it."

"You think so?" he asks, his voice eerily calm.

"Yes. Who are you? Why are you even _here_?" Renee replies, giving him a look that I'm pretty sure could turn lesser men to stone.

"I'm here for _her_," he answers simply. My hands tighten on his bicep across my chest, and my entire body swells with an emotion so much different than anger or pain.

One of Edward's arms disappears while the other keeps me held to his chest. I look up and to the side to see him pull his phone from his pocket. "You have one last chance to leave."

Renee crosses her arms over her chest in a sign of defiance, and Edward begins pressing buttons on the phone. He lifts it to his ear and starts speaking loud enough for us to hear, "Who's on duty tonight? Paul? Can you send him over to Chief's house? There's a trespasser on the property."

Renee's eyes widen, and I bite my lip, fighting the urge to smile. She looks at me, her face hardening. "We aren't done here, young lady." Her arms uncross, and as she makes her way to the front door.

She doesn't look back like I expect.

The echo of her heels lingers long after she slams the door behind her and she disappears.

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**I'm negl, I'm having a proud mama bear moment for my girl here. This was most definitely one of my favorite chapters to write. I hope it didn't disappoint...**

**NOTE: I'm headed out of town on Friday for business and then I'll be on vacation through the following week. I **_**am**_** going to try to update while I'm in Vegas (on Tuesday, like always), but I can't make any promises because I really don't know what my schedule will be like. If we do miss a week, I promise we'll be back on schedule on 2/8! It's also possible the update could come later in the week as well. I'll try to update on Twitter if I know. (If you don't follow me, link is on my profile)  
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_Thank you to everyone reading! I want to kiss all your faces and put you in my pocket._

**Leave some love and I'll do my very best to send you a taste of the next chapter in return.**

_xx_


	13. Chapter 13

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

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I hear the harsh slam of her car door and wince. All I can do is stare at the door she just walked out of. The whine of an engine cranks, tires squeal, and the sound slowly fades with each second that passes. The only thing I can comprehend is the meaning of those sounds.

All of that really happened, and now... it's over.

Renee is really and truly gone from here – perhaps even from my life.

I'm not sure how I feel about that. I don't even know if I'm supposed to feel anything at this point other than anger – and confusion. I just know that I'm glad she's gone. Whether or not I want it to be forever, I'm not sure.

It takes me a minute to realize my hands are shaking. I curl my fingers into my palms and tuck them close against my body. I need to do something, keep them busy – make the shaking stop. I don't want to break down because of everything she said. I've already done it once tonight and that was enough.

I don't want to think about any of this yet. I wasn't ready for her to be here, but even more than that, I'm not sure I'm ready for what comes now that it's over.

I turn back to the hallway and begin walking. I know Edward is there, waiting. I can feel him now in a way I've never been able to before, but I ignore it. I ignore him. There's too much in my head right now to acknowledge him properly.

Inside Charlie's room, I move back to the dresser where I know something exists to distract me. I avoid the mirror, afraid to see what I might look like right now. What I imagine is bad enough. My trembling hands immediately get to work, grabbing and placing a few odds and ends inside one of the boxes.

Though I want it to, my mind doesn't stop racing – moving – just like my hands. She did it on purpose. All of it. To keep me away from Charlie because she thought... what? That I'd end up barefoot and pregnant with no goals for my life? Did she really think so little of me?

Does she not realize that in keeping me away from my father – in controlling my life and sheltering me and making all of my decisions – she did exactly what she said she was striving against? She turned me into this weak person who was so dependent on someone else for everything that the mere thought of functioning on my own was terrifying.

I close my eyes as Edward's footsteps echo down the hall and into the room. The tingle on my skin warns me of the fact that he's behind me, but I can't look at him. I don't know what I'll see there, in his eyes. I don't want to know yet if my mother's behavior might have ruined his impression of me somehow. We've only just started… and as much as I'd like to believe he wouldn't allow her actions to dictate our friendship – our future – I just don't know him well enough to know if that's true.

It wasn't all that long ago that I felt like he hated me. That he clearly wanted no part of me or anything to do with my life.

After everything that's happened tonight, the thing that scares me the most isn't what happened with my mom or the things I learned, it's the thought that I might lose him because of it.

He was so good to me tonight, backing me up and trying to protect me in whatever way he could. I'm thankful for it, but also a little embarrassed that he had to do it at all. That he had to see how little control I have over my own life. My mother _knows _my weaknesses; I don't want him to witness them, too.

The truth is he shouldn't _have_ to deal with all of my drama on top of his own. He didn't sign up for any of this. If he were smart, he would leave now. He would run as far away from me as possible.

Even though I know it's the last thing I want, I wish he would just go. Just let me grieve for not only the loss of my father, my family…but him, too.

His hand brushes my shoulder, shocking me. My eyes open, but I don't look up. I hear his voice in my ear, soft and calm, "Bella? Please talk to me."

Hesitantly, I peek up into the mirror, into his soft green eyes. The emotions I see don't make sense. I expected fire, but all I see is sympathy. His cheek lifts into a weak half smile as our eyes stay glued to each other.

"There you are," he murmurs, and my heart starts to beat a little faster.

I frown and my eyes move back to my hands. My shoulders slump with a sigh as my chest tightens. _Just go!_ I want to shout. _Just put me out of my misery!_

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice even closer. His words spread whispers of warmth across my cheek and there's so much I want to say, but I don't know where to start or if he'll truly want to listen.

Instead, I nod and shrug, trying to act nonchalant. I'd like to forget everything that happened and just move on. In my own desperation, I change the subject completely.

"Is there anything here you want to keep?" My hands wrap around a framed picture of a woman I don't recognize as I turn away from him and place it inside a box. "I'm just going to put everything in here, you can bring back whatever you don't want, you know, whenever."

He sighs, but doesn't speak. I can still feel him there, can still feel his eyes crawling over my skin. It's disconcerting. I don't want to be a spectacle – I hate being the center of attention like this.

I pull open the top drawer of the dresser and start pulling shirts from inside. Careful to keep them folded as they are, I place them inside the box as well. Edward reaches for me on my second pass, stilling my movement until I give in and look up at him.

His eyes are still soft, but there's annoyance there, too. "Stop that."

"What do you mean?" I play stupid, struggling to pull my hands from his. "I just want to get this all finished, I'm sure you have other things to do. You probably want to get out of here."

His hands don't leave mine, and he overpowers me, pulling the shirts from my grasp as I struggle and hold tighter. "Don't do that," he says, his voice gritty. His hands throw the shirts across the room where they land with soft thumps against the wood floor. "Don't shut me out now."

His voice is hard. Too hard. I sigh in exasperation at his persistence, wondering why he's even bothering.

"I don't know what you want me to say!" I shout, angry at myself more than him.

"I just want you to tell me you're okay," he returns, his voice still hard.

"I'm fine."

"Why don't I believe you?"

_Because I don't know if it's true._

"Bella?"

My finger twirls into the material of one my t-shirt, my eyes settling on a scuff in the wood on the dresser. "I said '_I'm fine_!'" I snap and turn to leave.

He grabs my wrist, stopping me from leaving.

"I already knew the truth, Edward, her confirmation doesn't change anything."

"Yes it does," he tells me, not letting go. "It changes a lot."

I shrug, refusing to look up at him. "Maybe."

"No maybe's about it."

"Why does it matter to you?" I turn and look up at him, wondering why he hasn't left yet. He can't possibly want to hang around after tonight. I don't want him to think less of me, and I'm scared that he does, now.

He makes this sound, like he's shocked or surprised I would ask him that, and the fingers of his other hand rise to his hair. He tugs on the ends and his nostrils flare before he looks back at my face.

"Because _you_ matter."

"You just met me. Three weeks ago, you didn't even _like _me." I realize a second too late it sounds like I'm fishing for a compliment, maybe even some kind of validation that he's still my friend. That we're still us.

I need it. I don't want him to know that, though.

"You _know _it's not like that anymore," he says, his voice once again sharp as a knife. It cuts through me and my shoulders fall. He's not doing what I expect at all.

I really, really don't want to give him the chance to hurt me, too.

"Regardless, like I said… nothing's changed. I'm still that same weak girl I was before she got here."

"You're not weak."

I snort and he huffs.

"You're one of the strongest people I've ever met. And… for what it's worth, I'm proud of you." He lifts his hand into the air, like he's going to touch me. I shrug away from it, desperate to tell him he shouldn't be proud. Inside, I'm barely holding it together by a thread.

"That... well, that _sucked_. But I am proud of you, Bella. You should be proud too. I know it's hard to accept right now, but no matter what happens, you're a better person because you stood up to her."

"Whatever," I say, looking at the floor.

"Think about everything you've done here. You have a place to live, you have a job. You've got friends. You've done all of that _on your own_. And it's just the beginning—"

"I really didn't, Edward," I cut him off. "This house was Charlie's. I'm working for _your_ friend. The only thing I have here is you, and now you've seen all of that, and I don't know what's going to happen and I already lost my dad and my mom and I'm going to lose you and I'm… god, I just—"

He grabs my hand, pulling me roughly from Charlie's room. I stumble behind him across the hall, and into the room I've come to think of as my own. He drops my hand and walks around the bed, grabbing the comforter as his eyes settle on mine.

With a determined look, he pulls the blankets and comforters away from the bed in a whirl and tosses the bunched up mess on the floor. He doesn't look away and I stare back at him, my mouth falling open in shock.

"What the fuck was that for?" I rush forward and bend down to begin picking up the mess.

"Don't touch them," he snaps. His voice is so cold it stops me dead in my tracks. "You don't seem to understand what's different now, Bella. I'm trying to show you."

"Show me what?" I shout, my hands lifting into the air in frustration.

"I'm trying to show you that you don't _have _to pick those up!"

"Yes, I do," I argue, bending over again.

"No, you don't. You can pick them up if you _want _to, but you don't _have _to."

I scowl at his logic and cross my arms over my chest, waiting for him to continue.

"You _can _ask me to help you pick them up, but you don't _have _to. What I'm saying is there's nobody here who's going to judge you if your bed isn't made or if you need help to make it sometimes. That's how life works. We can't do everything on our own all the time. Sometimes we have to rely on others. There's nothing wrong with that, it's just how things are. We're not all like your mother."

I stand there, shocked that he sounds so passionate – desperate – to prove this point to me. On impulse I move toward him without thinking, standing on the tips of my toes and press my lips against his. I don't know why, I just know that I want to feel something other than what I have been. I'm scared I'm going to lose him, and if that happens… at least I'll have had this one moment. No matter what happens next.

He grunts and I press harder, trying to get closer. His lips are just as soft and warm as I imagined, and he feels oh so right like this. I just want to drown in something that feels good, even if it's just for a second. I want to jump off a cliff into his warmth and lose myself in the waves.

My hands lift to his shoulders, gripping him frantically and holding his mouth to mine. He stays frozen and I feel a groan vibrate through his lips as they move the slightest bit against my own. I open my mouth for more and a sound not much different than his escapes my throat. His soft tongue touches mine, briefly, and I feel his hands as they wrap around my fingers. _He's going to let me do this, he's going to give this to me._

"No," he says against my lips, his fingers reaching up and pulling me away. He steps back quickly and drops my hands at my sides. "I can't… I— I won't be a distraction for you."

My face falls and I blink up at him as pain twists in my chest. Embarrassment floods though me and I feel slightly dazed as I reach up to cover my mouth, still warm from where his lips were. I look down at the floor. I want to cry.

I've just thrown myself at him, acting so desperate and weak, yet again, and he's done what I thought he would.

He's rejected me.

"I think you should go," I blurt out, turning away from him in shame. I tell myself it'll be easier this way. It's better for both of us.

He sighs, but I can't look at him. I know this is my fault. I shouldn't have done that… it wasn't fair to either of us. Things are already fucked up enough.

I hear his footsteps move toward the door and close my eyes to hide the tears. My heart feels like it's breaking into a million tiny pieces.

He stops and my breath catches when he starts to talk, "I'm leaving because you asked. But please understand something… I'm not _going_ anywhere."

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**Please don't be mad at Bella... think about what just happened to her. All in one night she's broken down for the father she never met, and then she had to face the mother who kept her from him. Now she isn't quite sure what to do with herself. Every journey has it's bumps in the road, this is most definitely one of hers. I hope you'll give her a chance to get back up again and see what's waiting for her on the other side.**

_So, as I said last week... I'm on vacation. In Vegas. I haven't been able to get the wireless in our hotel room to work, and now I'm using my husbands verizon card, since I had no clue he could share his access with me until this morning. So it's a few days late, but hopefully it was worth it. Since this **is **late, next week's update will NOT be on Tuesday. From now on, it looks like we'll be moving to Friday's. Up until now, all of the chapters have been pre-written, but going forward I don't have much left in the bank, and I still need some time to catch up so you guys won't have to wait too long. :) _

**As always, thank you for reading. You guys really are the best and I still want you all in my pocket! See you next week!**

_xx  
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	14. Chapter 14

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

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"There's a new shipment that came in last night. Everything just needs to be unpacked and folded, or hung up. I know it's a pain in the ass, but luckily it doesn't happen more than a few times a month."

I nod and follow Alice into the back of the store, glad for the task that's sure to keep me busy for most of the day.

After getting pretty much no sleep (instead, I stayed up most of the night in Charlie's room and tried to keep myself busy), I'd gotten here early this morning. Last night, I found that as long as I kept moving, the tears fell less often. This morning I still feel numb, but I'm here. Hopefully the trend will continue, and I'll keep myself together today... if I can just stay productive.

Alice makes her way into the break room and starts pulling mugs from the shelf above where she's got one of those fancy coffee makers that do everything for you. All you have to do is set a timer and make sure there's grounds in the filter before you leave and it's ready when you are; not the other way around. She pours two cups of fresh brew and adds the perfect amount of sugar and cream.

Alice hands me a mug and I take a sip, looking forward to the jolt I know it will bring. The burn that trickles down my throat doesn't help with the empty, hollow feeling in my stomach (or the one in my chest). It does, however, remind me that I'm alive, even though I feel anything but. I'm completely wiped out.

I stare down into the dark liquid, feeling lost.

Last night after Edward left, I stood there in the same spot listening as the back door closed softly and tried to tell myself I'd done the right thing by asking him to leave. I heard his footsteps as he moved down the steps out back, and then I waited in silence. I expected to hear the engine of his truck turn over, but it was quiet after that.

For long minutes, I didn't move. I waited for him to leave me. All the while, I knew he was still outside, still close. And the thing I wanted more than anything in the world was to run after him, beg him to stay with me.

But I couldn't. I was the one who'd asked him to go, and he did it. For me.

I realized he'd done a lot for me, and all I'd done is make his life more difficult. I had to force myself to stay in place. Not to go after him.

I stared down at the mess of blankets on the floor, the last part of him that remained. The same ones he'd helped me put on just a few weeks before. I bent down and wrapped my arms around everything, with every intention of dragging myself to the bed and falling into it. I never made it. Instead, I buried my face into the blankets and melted into them as my heart cracked open.

With my eyes closed; I swore I could still smell him.

It only brought a small amount of comfort.

That was when the tears began to fall, soaking the blankets as I pushed myself deeper into the mess. I thought maybe I could get lost in them; that maybe I could bury myself inside the cocoon of cotton and just forget everything.

It was fruitless. I couldn't do it. I couldn't stop thinking. My mind jumped, snapped, shifted... like it had whiplash or something. Edward. Renee. Charlie. Edward. Renee. Charlie.

But it kept returning to Edward. To how it felt when he pulled his lips away from mine and stopped the kiss. To how he looked when I'd asked him to leave...

Of everything that happened, and what I've done to him... That's what I regret the most. I shouldn't have done what I did without having the courage and conviction to back it up. I should have been able to handle his rejection.

Alice snaps her fingers and my head snaps up. "Bella! What's wrong with you today?"

"Nothing," I lie. I don't want to talk to her about this. Or anyone for that matter. Not yet anyway. "Sorry, just kind of spaced out for a second."

I'm trying my best to look positive, but when she shrugs and gives me a smile I recognize as patronizing, I know she knows I'm full of shit.

"Ready to get to work?" she asks.

I nod and follow her as she skips off to the small storage room opposite the break room.

She gets right into it like usual, zipping around and making messes here, there and everywhere. When she points to the counter, I take over at a rack and start hanging dresses as she rips the plastic away and passes them across the table. Soon, we fall into a rhythm, and it isn't until I hear the radio switch on and Alice's soft voice singing along that I realize how quiet it is.

Still, I try my best to tune her out.

My head is still all over the place with everything that's going on in my life outside this store. I know I should feel some sense of pride that for once I didn't allow myself to crumble under the weight of my mom's judgment (like I have so many times in the past). I know I should be proud that I stood up to her, and that now... it's over. I should be happy that I don't have to worry about her ambushing me again.

…I just can't be.

Because while I may have held strong in front of her, I know now, the crumbling that happened afterward was epic.

After crying my eyes out last night, I forced myself up off the floor. I went back into Charlie's room and finished boxing everything that I could, just like Edward and I had intended to do. I'm still not sure when he left because I didn't allow myself to go in search of him.

I was – am – so damn ashamed of myself for what I did to Edward, for the position I put him in. I figured it was the least I could do. Not only did he have to stand by and witness the depth of disdain Renee apparently has for Charlie, but he also witnessed me at my lowest point ever. And then he saw me go even lower when I tried to kiss him.

_I'll be lucky if he ever talks to me again._

And I know... _that_ is why my chest feels so empty. I hadn't realized just how much he's begun to mean to me.

It wasn't fair for me to try to use him the way I did and I'm still not sure what possessed me to even attempt it. I stomped around Charlie's room last night, and I'd wanted so badly to be angry with him. I kept asking myself the same thing over and over again, hoping for a different answer: What kind of guy stops a girl from trying to kiss him?

No matter how many times I hoped for it to change, the answer I knew in my heart was always the same. It just took me a while to accept it.

Only the best kind of guy would have done what he did.

At least _one_ of us had their head on straight. I'm glad he had the presence of mind to push me away. Who knows what would have happened if he hadn't?

But now, I don't know what to do. I'm embarrassed beyond belief and I'm unsure how I'm going to ever be able to face him again. I don't know if there's a way I can apologize for this. I'm not sure if things can go back to the way they were.

I can hope... And I _will_ try, because I know now that I can pretty much make it through anything.

Alice and I stay busy through lunchtime, taking turns going to the front when a customer comes into the store. When I finally look up at the clock on the wall, I notice it's already after one. Alice floats back to the room after ringing up one of the customers and has that glow she usually gets when she knows Jasper is going to stop by.

I hold my breath, staring at her... because if Jasper's coming, Edward could be with him. My stomach feels like it's folding in on itself. _I'm not ready yet!_ I want to shout at her, but I know she won't understand. Or maybe she will. Who knows if she's spoken to him.

She could know everything that's happened between us.

"Jas is going to stop by after lunch," she finally says, and I let out a heavy breath.

"Okay," I mumble, fidgeting with the dress in my hands. I'll just leave before they get here. They can't stay that long, right?

Not a minute later, I hear the bell ring out front, followed quickly by the familiar pounding of boots I've come to recognize so well. I freeze mid-hang, half tempted to run to the bathroom. To hide or empty the non-existent contents of my stomach, I'm not sure. I suck in a breath and hold it.

"Sweetcheeks, you in the back?" Jasper's calls out across the store, his southern drawl curling around the words.

Alice looks over at me and smiles, big and bright and full of love. She turns toward the door. "Yeah, Babe."

Jasper appears from around the corner. I hold my breath, preparing. On his heels I hear someone approach and I search for a familiar head of messy penny colored hair. For those strong shoulders and my favorite hands – hands that protected me, but also, hands that pushed me away – but what I find isn't them.

Behind Jasper stands a short guy. He barely reaches his shoulders. He's skinny and his messy hair isn't appealing in the same way as Edward's. He seriously looks like he needs a bath and a haircut. Both men are in full uniform, which doesn't make sense to me. _ I thought Edward was Jasper's partner?  
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"Afternoon, Ladies," Jasper says, smiling at me as Alice folds herself into his arms.

I give a small wave as Alice detaches from Jasper and reaches up to flick the skinny guy's ear. "James."

"Brandon," the skinny guy – James, I guess – answers.

"You know I'm not Brandon anymore, asswipe. Get it right." Alice turns away from him and rolls her eyes dramatically. "I've been Whitlock for about four years now."

"Why isn't Edward with you?" I blurt out, and then reach up to cover my mouth.

Jasper opens his mouth but before he can talk, James laughs. "Edward?" he says. "Masen's not riding anything these days but a desk."

I've heard this phrase before, possibly on a television crime-drama or something. Instantly I wonder what Edward would have done to be taken off of patrol, or if he's having such a bad time of things that he was put there for his own good. And then I wonder why he hasn't said anything about it to me.

Technically I know why he hasn't: we're not so close that he feels the need to spill his guts to me. Still, I want to be there for him like he has been for me. Jasper glares as he turns in James' direction. "Keep your mouth shut, _Rookie_."

He says the last word with so much venom, even I shrink away. Alice interrupts the conversation by not so covertly trying to change the subject.

"So, did you guys have lunch at the Haven?"

The group seems to fall into an easy conversation then. I let the subject drop, because it's clear there's something they don't want me to know. I excuse myself after a few minutes, claiming I need to get back to work. I retreat to the front of the store, their voices and laughter trailing after me. What I really want to do is walk back there, stop them, and demand someone tell me what's going on. But is it any of my business? If there were something Edward wanted me to know, he would have told me himself, right?

Jasper and James come out, waving and offering me goodbyes. Alice seems quiet when she returns to the front of the store. I catch her a few times, looking at me from the corner of her eyes like she's trying to read me.

Finally, after the fourth time, I snap. "_What?_"

"Nothing," she replies, too casual for my taste.

I grip the shirt in my hands tightly and look at her. I want to know what the hell is going on. Setting the shirt on the rack, I cross my arms over my chest and continue to stare at her.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"No I don't."

"Tell me then. What did he mean?"

"Who?"

She's playing dumb. I sigh in frustration.

"James. What did he mean about Edward 'riding a desk'?"

Alice looks down at the floor and pulls a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, taking one out of the box. "I think you should ask Edward about that."

I narrow my eyes at her, trying to hide the shiver that runs all over my body at the thought of seeing him again. Of having to ask him anything, let alone talk to him. I ruined everything.

I blow out a breath. "Okay, fine."

I turn around and return to work, annoyed. She's obviously not going to tell me anything, and if I push, she could tell him. I don't need to add more embarrassment to the pile that I've already created. If he wanted me to know these things, he definitely would have told me himself.

Right?

The rest of the day passes quietly. I'm fairly certain Alice is afraid to talk, because she's scared she'll tell me something she shouldn't. I'm torn between begging her to tell me everything and being angry that she hasn't. I don't have any idea what I want.

When I get home, the house feels emptier than it ever has before. It's too quiet. Too dark. It makes me want to scream. I'm tempted to turn on music at full blast and I don't know... I just need noise.

What I really need is to not feel so alone, so empty.

There are eight light switches in the house. I make sure to turn on every single one, and then I move to the television and turn it on, too. I crank the volume to twenty three before I toss the remote back to the coffee table. It's so loud that the speaker crackles, but it doesn't stop me from hearing the knock at the back door.

My heart is pounding out a heavy rhythm and I freeze. I try my best to stay completely still. Not breathing, not moving. Maybe if I don't move, whoever it is will go away. It could be anyone. It could be my mother... It could be Edward.

"Bella?"

My heart jumps into my throat when I hear his familiar, calm voice.

The back door shuts and I can feel Edward's footsteps through my bare feet. I still haven't moved. I _did _tell him he didn't have to knock, but I didn't expect this... Every light in the house is on, and the television is blaring. For just a brief second, I consider the option of hiding and trying to make him believe I'm not here. I remind myself quickly that I can't do that. I've hidden too much.

He rounds the corner of the workroom out back, his keys spinning in a circle around his finger. He stops at the sight of me. For just that few seconds his keys are the only thing in the room still moving. I know I'm breathing. I can hear the beats of my heart cracking like thunder in my ears, but to anyone else, we both probably look like statues.

Finally, Edward cocks his head a little. The messy strands of his hair fall across his forehead and he reaches up to swipe them back, holding them in place as he stares at me.

I haven't had time to work out the things I want to say to him. This is a big conversation we need to have. The part of me that needs order is flailing about with nothing to grasp onto. What do I say? What do I do?

"Bella?" he says, louder this time. I assume it's to be heard over the baseball game. I probably look like someone caught with their pants down. Or a deer in headlights.

Shaking my arms, I try my best to look more casual. "What are you doing here?" I croak out over the sound of the announcer (who congratulates number twenty three on his homerun exuberantly).

He pulls a little on the hair in his hand. "I, uh..."

He doesn't say anything else, just stares at me. He's looking at me so intensely... I don't know what to do or say or how to act around him now. I'm not even sure I still remember how to breathe properly. I close my eyes and drop my face to the floor. The image of his hair sticking up in all those directions, of his lips – those warm, warm, warm lips – burns behind my eyes, and it's all just... too much.

I'm reminded of the fact that it's not just the nerves or the embarrassment I feel anymore when I'm near him. It's this mixture of fear and emotion... something that could have turned into love eventually. If I hadn't screwed things up.

There's this war going on inside me. I want him close but, at the same time, my wounded pride still wants to push him away. I don't know how to handle it because I've never felt like this before.

"I came by..." he interrupts my little internal battle. "To see if you were okay. Are you... I mean, uh... okay?"

My mouth opens. Closes. Opens. He must sense that I can't speak, so he goes on like nothing's changed between us.

"I brought some more boxes. I thought maybe we could finish up?"

So that's why he really came. For Charlie's things...

The thought makes my chest ache and my shoulders fall.

"I finished it. Last night... pretty much everything is done."

"Oh." He looks around, down toward the hallway and I follow his gaze. "Do you want me to take it?"

"Sure," I say. I nod toward the hall. "If you want."

He takes a few more steps in my direction, coming through the dining room until we're face-to-face. His eyes are so green, sparkling in the bright lights above our heads. I want to reach out and touch him; it looks like he wants the same thing. But I don't. He doesn't either.

"I guess I'll just..." he trails off slowly, and then he takes a step backward into the hallway, burying his hands in his pockets. He doesn't turn until he's at Charlie's door and he's forced to.

I breathe a sigh of relief, grateful for the time to sort things out in my head first. I grab the remote, turn the television down, and head for the kitchen. My hands grip the counter and I suck in several deep breaths, trying to straighten myself out so I can face him when he comes back out.

"I think we should talk."

I jump at his voice right behind me, straightening until I'm stiff as a board. Instead of facing him, I turn to the fridge so he can't see my face. I didn't even hear him come back. Pulling open the fridge, I grab a bottle of water and twist off the cap. I take a few quick swigs from it and then turn to him slowly.

His hands are still buried deep in his pockets. It's like he did the same thing as me: stepped away to collect himself for a minute. Shaking his head, he looks down at his boots. He breathes deeply, shoulders rising and falling once, twice. A third time.

I reach up and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. He's right – we do need to talk.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask stupidly, trying to buy myself some time to think about what I need to say.

"Really?" he asks sharply, pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms over his chest. Angry Edward is a little hot. Okay… a lot.

"Fine, I know what you want to talk about. I'm just not sure what I should say," I reply, trying to keep my voice level.

He stares at me quietly and then shakes his head with a sigh. "Why did you push me away, Bella?"

I stare at him. I'd like to remind him that he pushed first, but did I really give him any other choice?

"I'm... I didn't mean to," I return.

"But you did."

He looks so… broken. I did that. I take another drink of my water and look away from the sad look on his face. I know I owe him an explanation for what I did and why I made him leave.

"It was wrong. I— just wanted _something_. I wanted to feel good. It was stupid... I was wrong to think it would be okay to do that to you. I'm so sorry," I whisper the last three words, hoping he'll be able to pick up the sincerity.

"You didn't answer my question. Why did you push me away?"

"It was better. For both of us."

"Says who?" he asks, his voice determined and strong.

I shrug. "Me? I don't know!" I shout, tears beginning to burn in my eyes. "I don't know how, after what you saw last night... after what my mother did. After what _I_did, you wouldn't want to run far, _far _away from me, Edward. I thought... I don't know. I was embarrassed and I just... thought it was what you would want."

He growls deep down in his throat, like he's annoyed. "You don't get it, do you?" He looks up at the ceiling and then back at me. "I couldn't run away from you even if I wanted to." I open my mouth to interrupt, but he goes on, "And I _don't _want to."

"I don't know _what_ you want..." I admit.

I don't exactly know what I want either, for that matter. But I refuse to tell him that.

"For starters," he says. "I'd like to know what the hell happened to that brave ass girl I met four weeks ago. The same one who got smacked in the face with something huge and didn't let _me_ give her any shit. I'd also really love to see the girl who stood right there," he points to the living room, "last night, and told her mother to get the fuck out of her house."

Every word is serious, like he means it and he wants me to believe in him.

I want him to believe in me, too.

"But what I want the most," he whispers, waiting until my eyes are on his to continue, "is for you to _never_ do that to me again. I want that girl back. I know she's still in there, can you ask her to come out?"

"Edward..." I say, drawing his name out and fighting against the smile his words inspire. I don't know how he does this. How he manages to put me at ease so quickly. All I know is that what he's saying is making the butterflies in my stomach feel like they're competing in some kind of race, and I like it.

He steps closer to me and drops his arms to his sides. My cheeks twitch and I finally let go, allowing the happiness – the ease, to return. With him so near, I can smell him – all clean boy and just.. _Edward_. And I swear I can feel the warmth of his body in every part of me.

He lifts one hand to my shoulder and keeps his eyes on mine. His cheeks lift slowly until his face matches mine.

I breathe a sigh of relief. "I'm so sorry," I tell him again. "I wasn't fair to you."

He shrugs one shoulder and ducks down low, and then his smile turns dazzling. "I can't say I'm all that upset about the beginning... it was the end that got me."

"Shut up," I mutter, blushing and looking down at the floor.

He laughs. "Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to understand that what I did last night wasn't because I didn't want it to happen," he says, his voice full of smooth sexiness. "Just... not like that, okay? Not because of her."

I look up slowly and a heavy breath escapes my lips. My stomach twists tighter, while my heart... it feels like it's opening. Like a flower blooming for the first time on a sunny day.

He lifts his hand to my cheek and traces a finger beneath my eyes, down the slope of my nose and then with the very tip of his finger, he slides it across my lip. First the top, then the bottom.

"I meant what I said," he murmurs, his gaze shifting between my lips and my eyes. His hand slides back to cup my cheek. I nuzzle into his palm, enjoying the comfort. His gaze stays on mine, all golden-green and serious. "I'm not going anywhere."

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**Hopefully she understands just what it is he's looking for now. ;) Next chapter? Next Friday.  
**  
_I'm finally back from vacation, and in the swing of things again. As always, I read and cherish every single review you guys leave for me. I still can't believe the response to this story and it means the absolute world to me that you guys seem to love these two as much as I do._

**Thank you for reading. Leave some love and I'll do my best to send you a teaser in return!**

_xx_


	15. Chapter 15

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

**

* * *

**It's the inky black of nighttime when Edward carries the last box from Charlie's room out to his truck. I stand at the top of the stairs, watching as he fades into the shadows. It's so quiet here; the silence is broken only by the sound of his tailgate slamming shut and his footsteps coming back up the stairs. His hands find their way into the pockets of his jeans, like always. We both seem to have this whole lovestruck teenager look going on, all moony-faced and somewhat shy.

If I were witnessing us from the outside, I'd probably giggle and point. But from the inside, it feels too good to laugh at.

"I'll see you Monday?" he asks, stepping down one step so we're closer to eye-level.

I nod, crossing my arms over my chest to ward off the chill of the night air. "Bright and early."

He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek, and when he pulls back his grin is huge — as is mine. The next thing I know, he's jogging down the steps two at a time, like one of those boys on the playground who steals kisses and then runs away.

I watch him leave, feeling no amount of unhappiness as he starts to back his truck out of the driveway. I'm certain I'll see him again. He's told me more than once now that he doesn't plan on going anywhere. It just took me a little while to actually believe it.

I'm glad he had the courage to come back, to give me the push I needed. He knew I had it in me; I just needed a little reminder.

It isn't until his taillights fade from bright red to soft pink and then into nothingness that I realize I've forgotten something important.

James.

Edward's unannounced arrivals always throw me off balance. I don't know how to act, let alone how to think. It's not like me. I'm not used to the way he seems to possess this ability to twist me around. I'm used to wanting – no, needing – to have control.

With him, though… I don't seem to mind (or notice) giving it up.

It's a little bit frightening in the best kind of way.

The questions I had about what James said were the furthest thing from my mind. The truth is I'm not sure _how _to question Edward about it. Or if I even have the right to. But he did say he wanted the pushy girl back…

On Monday morning, I walk into the diner with a plan to ask him what I want to know. Sadly, it's foiled quickly when I find him seated with another officer. The man seated across from Edward is pretty big, with dark brown hair and big brown eyes. His uniform bears subtle differences to the one I see most days. The sleeves are longer, the arms and pockets decorated for his higher rank. I hesitate, unsure whether or not it would be appropriate for me to interrupt.

The man's eyes lift and settle on me. His lips move and then Edward is turning in my direction. I smile softly and wave, hoping he'll answer the question in my eyes about whether or not I should approach. He jerks his head and invites me over. The look on his face isn't unhappy, but it's not full of joy either, and I have to wonder if this has anything to do with what James let slip.

I place my hand on Edward's shoulder and squeeze; he reaches up to grab my hand and squeeze back.

"Bella," he says, looking away from me and back to the man across the way. "This is Sam Uley. Chief Uley, this is Isabella Dwyer."

I'm reminded of the first time I saw Edward at Jacob's office; he mentioned something about Sam being a dick. I also remember reading in the paper about him being named as interim chief when Charlie was killed.

Sam wipes his hands and stands up, offering me his palm to shake. I reach across to meet him in the middle. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Uley."

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Isabella. I've heard a lot about you. And please, call me Sam."

"Well then, please call me Bella," I insist, offering him a smile.

"Of course," Sam says, and then looks back at Edward. "Think about what I said, okay? Bella, I'm sure I'll see you again sometime."

Sam drains the coffee in his cup and then stands to leave. I move around the table to sit in his now empty seat. It's warm, which indicates he's been here for a while. I look at Edward. His face still doesn't show any bit of happiness, and again I wonder what they were discussing.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he replies, too quietly.

After the light-hearted goodbye we shared the other night, I don't like this withdrawn side of Edward. It feels wrong, like we've taken two steps backward.

"Official business?" I grin, trying to get him to play along.

"Something like that," Edward replies. He picks up his coffee and takes a sip. There's a slump to his shoulders that I haven't seen in a while.

The complete change in his behavior from the last time I saw him makes me hesitant to ask him what I'd planned on. I don't know if now would be the right time or if I'll just make things worse. We always seem to be on shaky ground, and I always seem to be the one making it even shakier. I keep my questions to myself, too reluctant to push him away.

Unfortunately, his mood doesn't seem to change as the days pass. Our breakfasts throughout the week continue in much the same way. Edward's quiet, and despite how much I might like for him to, I get no impromptu drop-by's in the evenings. I start to wonder if he's rethinking everything we talked about on Saturday night. Worriedly, I begin to second guess whether I've inadvertently done something to change his mind.

By the time Friday rolls around he's still in a weird mood. My chest aches when I walk into the diner because I don't know what's wrong. Whatever it is, I want to fix it. When he kisses me on the cheek before leaving, which he's taken to doing now, my body tingles the same way it always does, but the smile I give him is only on the outside.

Everything on the inside is frowning.

Saturday morning, I wake up in a funk. I've got nothing but time to worry over the Edward situation today. Alice told me yesterday that the shop would be closed so a photographer could come in and shoot some spreads for an article they're doing. Effectively, I have nothing to do and nowhere to go.

Even if I had the courage to turn the tables on Edward and drop in on _him _unexpectedly, I have no idea where to start: I don't know where he lives or even what his phone number is. I'm sure it wouldn't be all that difficult to find out, but it doesn't seem like the best idea right now. Plus, it's another one of those things I imagine he'd tell me on his own if he wanted me to be able to contact him.

I make myself a light breakfast and sit at the table with my sketchbook. Sadly, the page in front of me seems to stay blank more often than not these days. Today is no different. After several minutes of staring, I finally force myself to pick up the pencil and begin doodling in the corner a little, only to drop it when I hear the gravel in the drive crunch as someone pulls up outside.

I stand up and walk to the window. Edward. I'm not sure whether to be excited or scared. He gets out of his truck, dressed in my favorite pair of jeans and his PAPD hoodie, and comes jogging up the steps. I open the door before he has a chance to knock.

"Isn't it kind of early?" I ask.

He stops and his eyes widen a little. "I guess it is… I was just wondering what you're doing today?" His voice is so soft in the mornings, like a blanket fresh out of the dryer that you want to nuzzle into.

"I was just doing some really important stuff," I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to appear stern.

"What was that?" he asks, his voice sounding a bit nervous.

"Staring at the wall. Making sure the paint doesn't peel or anything. Can't have that happen on _my _watch." I point to my chest with my thumb and crack a smile.

Edward's cheeks twitch, like he's fighting a grin. I want him to let it out, to show me that dazzle.

"Well, I'm sorry for interrupting..." he trails off. "But what would you say if I asked you to do that another day?"

"I think I might just be in the mood to be coerced. What did you have in mind?"

"Coerced, huh?" He takes a step closer, crowding me in the best sort of way. "You're making this sound much more interesting than it actually might be." And now his grin is back, but his eyes look a little sheepish.

"You still haven't told me what you had in mind."

"It's a surprise."

"You're not very good with coercion, buddy." I scowl playfully.

Honestly, being anywhere but here right now – with him – sounds like the best thing in the world. No matter how much I may hate surprises, or how much his closed-off behavior this week has bothered me, I can't tell him no.

"Please," he says, pushing his lower lip out and offering me the cutest pout. _Like he needs to use the __lips.  
_  
He holds his hand out for mine and I reach out to him, enjoying the warmth of his touch and the flip-flops it starts in my belly.

"Fine," I concede, stepping forward. "Oh, wait, my bag!"

I look over my shoulder, and then down at our hands. I don't want to let go, and he seems to understand. He loosens his fingers and nods his head with a small smile. I return it and run back to the kitchen to grab my purse. When I return, his hand is still there in the air, waiting for mine.

I have this feeling of lightness that's been absent for most of the week when I touch him again. I don't know what's changed, but I'm so glad to see glimpses of the Edward I've missed.

He pulls me from the house, practically dancing us down the stairs. At the bottom, Edward unlocks and opens the door of his truck, helping me into the seat before he crosses around the back and climbs in on the other side. He starts the engine, saying nothing as we pull out of the driveway. He fiddles with the radio, turning it to a station playing seventies rock and turning the volume low. I watch his fingers tap out a beat on the steering wheel.

"Now you've got me in the truck. Where are we going?" I ask, hoping this time he'll give up the information.

Edward looks at me briefly, and then back to the road in front of him. I see his cheek lift, and I know he's smiling. "I told you, it's a surprise. I want to show you something."

"Okay… what?"

"You'll see."

"You're kind of a pain in the ass," I huff.

"I know." He smiles.

The homes and business gradually give way to dirt roads and trees. Lots of trees. They begin to grow in not only number, but size as well. The further we get, the more curious I become. I want to know where he's taking me… and why? I have to fight the urge to bounce my feet on the floor of his truck.

Instead, I mess with his radio and find a new station playing something a little softer. He doesn't seem to mind.

I'm not sure how long has passed since we left Port Angeles, but I finally see signs of life again. We pull slowly into a small town. I read aloud as we pass a sign on our right, "Forks... Population: three-thousand, one-hundred and twenty people. Oh no…"

"What?"

"Please tell me we're not going river rafting."

"Why would you think—"

I interrupt him, "You know, like in _Deliverance_?"

Edward looks at me, probably to check if I'm serious. Then he lets out the loudest laugh, releasing one of his hands from the steering wheel to hold his stomach. I can't help but giggle along with him.

"No, we're not going river rafting," he says on a laugh.

"Promise?"

He holds up his hand. "Scouts Honor."

"Were you ever a Scout?" I ask with a grin, picturing him as a miniature version of himself in his uniform.

"I could tell you… but if I were taking you rafting, do you think I'd be honest about it?"

"Good point."

"Relax. I told you, I want to show you something," he says, trying to look exasperated with me.

I cross my arms over my chest and try the pout. "Okay fine," I say dramatically, turning to look back out the window. It doesn't work; apparently he's not as much of a softy as I am.

Edward beeps his horn as we pass through the small town, and a man with blond hair and a rather large butt waves from the parking lot of a store called Newton's Outfitters.

"Who's that?"

"Mike, he owns the store," Edward replies. "That's usually where we stop off to get supplies before we hit the river."

"You really are taking me rafting!" I say in mock horror, putting my hands up to cover my mouth.

"Knock it off or maybe I will," he teases.

He grins and shakes his head back and forth as the truck climbs the mountains and heads deeper into the forest. I roll down my window, letting the fresh air swirl around me.

"It's so beautiful here," I muse.

"Yeah… I've always thought so."

After a few more minutes, Edward pulls the truck up in front of a quaint little cottage. Trees dot the landscape and a fishing boat lies overturned in the modest front yard. He smiles over at me as he parks the truck. The light in his eyes is so bright; he's so much happier than I've seen from him in more than a week.

Instinctively I know that wherever we are, whatever this place is… it's special to him.

I eagerly reach for the door handle, mimicking his eager hop down from the truck.

"What is this place?" I ask, trying to take in everything.

"This is home," he says simply, staring up at the cottage.

"Wait… you _live_ here?" I mentally calculate how the long the drive took, and then wonder how this is possible. I thought most police officers had to live in the city they worked for...

"On the weekends, yes."

"Oh."

I walk closer to the cottage. There's a very small wooden porch and a powder blue door that looks freshly painted. To the left of the door sit several pairs of rubber boots and what I'm pretty sure is a tire iron. Edward follows me, stepping up on the porch and pulling his keys out to unlock the door. He pushes it open and gestures me inside.

I walk in behind him and turn in place. The cottage is verging on tiny, but it's also cozy and warm. On the right there's a very worn-in loveseat and a television that has aluminum foil rabbit ears sticking out of the back. Beyond that is a wood burning stove with a kettle on top. Behind the stove on the left sits an overflowing bookshelf.

I close my eyes and inhale. It smells like evergreen and fresh water and Edward.

And he's right… it feels like home. Like one of those places you see on TV and wish you could visit; if only for a little bit.

On my left is a hallway with a closed door I'm guessing is a bathroom; in front of that is a small kitchen boasting a refrigerator, a sink and an oven, but nearly no counter space. Edward walks into the kitchen and opens another door. He stands there, waiting for me.

"Come outside."

Out back there's a worn wooden deck with beat-up lawn furniture and an umbrella with far too many holes to be of any use. Past the deck is the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. The cottage sits less than a minute or so from the banks of the Sol Duc River. The sun is high in the sky this afternoon, fighting its way through the cloud cover above to give us a glimpse at its brilliance. It reflects off the water in tiny sparkles. My hand twitches, and suddenly I feel the urge to draw finally.

My eyes close and I breathe in deep until I feel the burn of fresh air, and then I let it out. The sound of the water streaming is tranquil. A smile wends its way onto my face, and I look at Edward to see him smiling, too.

"This is amazing," I say.

"You like it?" he asks, ducking his head down and looking shy.

"I like it."

"So did your dad," he replies quietly, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking up from the ground.

My chest clenches. "What?"

"Your dad… this was his."

It's the first time he's called Charlie my dad, and I realize that, up until this point, I haven't done the same. I look around, fighting the sting of tears. I should have expected he would come up again. This time, it feels so much more real. After everything that happened last week, everything Renee admitted, every new piece of Charlie – of my dad – I get or learn feels like another knife in my heart. It's hitting closer to home now more than ever that he's really gone.

There are plenty of people to give me a glimpse of what he was like, to share memories or words on how good of a man he was, but I'll never get the chance to truly _know_ him.

My eyes focus on Edward, and I feel grateful for him. At least he's here, willing to give me parts of Charlie that I wouldn't be able to attain without him.

"I just thought, you know... that you might want to see this. I didn't mean to keep what I got in the will from you, I just…"

"This is what he left you," I whisper, understanding.

Edward nods. "This is what I wanted."

"Did you know?" I ask, suddenly curious. "Did you know what the will said before that day?"

He doesn't look at me when he answers. "Yes."

He steps further onto the deck, and then down toward the water before turning back to me. He gestures with his head for me to follow. I walk forward and step down, moving through the ferns as I look at the bank of the river.

My thoughts are back on that that day in Jacob Black's office, hearing once again all the yelling behind closed doors. I'm curious. I had assumed it was his being unhappy with how things played out, but, if he knew, that can't be true. Now seems like a good time to ask…

"I thought you were arguing the will," I say. "Why were you yelling?"

He looks confused, so I hurry to explain.

"In Jacob Black's office. There was yelling."

Edward sighs. "They were arguing with _me_," he replies. "Sue didn't like Charlie's decisions."

It's clear Sue was important to my dad. At the very least, I'd like to be able to tell her some day that I would have changed things if I'd been given the choice. She _should_ know.

Sadly, I don't think I'll ever get that chance.

"She doesn't like me very much, does she?"

"She doesn't know you."

"Neither did you, but you still hated me."

"I didn't know how to feel about you then."

Just a short way from the cottage is an old wooden dock with a boat attached. Our shoes echo across the wood as we both step on it.

I want to ask him how he feels about me now. He said he wasn't going anywhere – that he didn't want it to be because of Renee, but then... this whole week, he pulled away. He watches me as I try to look at anything but him. . It's been somewhat easier between us this morning, but I still want to understand why he was so moody before. I want to help him as much as he's helped me, but I'm scared of his answer... and so, so hesitant to ask him why.

"Do you now?" I ask quietly.

He scrubs his hand over his face. "We discussed this, didn't we?"

"We did, but things changed. This week... things changed. It's like we went backwards."

He pauses. I look back to find him deep in thought. I look at the water underneath the dock. It's choppy and rough, a perfect visual for the way my stomach feels right now.

"I'm sorry," he says finally, his voice thick.

"Did I _do_ something?"

"No." He shakes his head.

"Well then, why?"

"Alice told me what James said. I— I was scared..."

"What do you have to be afraid of?" I ask him.

"Everything," he says, laughing without humor.

He's told me so many times that he's not going anywhere, and I have yet to say that back to him. I know that I should reassure _him _that I'm in this, too. I want to be here. With him. Maybe he just needs to know...

"I'm not going anywhere either, you know."

He moves his eyes across my face, reading me. Like he's trying to see if I'm being honest.

"I _do_ know," he says with a heavy breath.

"Do you?" I insist. "You told me not to push you away; the rules should apply to you, too."

"I know," he says pleadingly, running his fingers through his hair and tugging on the ends. It's something I've noticed he does when he's frustrated. "I just… it wasn't _you_. It was me. I know that sounds really fucking cliché, right? I'm messed up, Bella. I've _been_ messed up. Since everything happened… I don't know how to handle anything anymore. Especially not this." He gestures between the two of us and starts to pace back and forth, his feet making a rhythmic pitter-patter on the wood below us.

I want to stop his frantic movement, put my arms around him. Calm him down.

"When Alice told me what James said, I didn't know _what_ you would think. I was thinking you'd assume I lied to you or something. After everything we talked about Saturday night, I didn't want you thinking I was keeping shit from you. I just didn't know how to bring it up and admit that he was right. They removed me from patrol until a therapist clears me. They're making me go to Seattle every week to see some department approved shrink," he sighs, and his voice sounds so broken.

"Wow…" I breathe, unsure of what else to say.

From what I've learned about Edward in these past few weeks, he's pretty self-contained, quiet. I can't imagine being forced to talk about what's going on in his life is easy for him.

He looks away, staring at the water. The only sound around us now is the river rushing by at the end of the dock.

When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, "And you know? It doesn't help. I'm sorry I made you feel like I was pushing you away this week, I don't know why I did it. But it was like… I was afraid to be around you; I wasn't sure what your reaction would be. And then you didn't ask, and I didn't know how the hell to handle _that _either." He turns his back to me, lifting his head to the sky. "I thought maybe you just didn't care."

That breaks me.

I step forward, pushing my face into his back and wrapping my arms around his front. "I care," I insist.

It's like he finally hears me, because his hands grip mine, pulling them tighter around his body. When he speaks again, I can feel his words vibrate through me.

"Charlie had your picture for two years before he... I've been looking at it since he brought it back, wondering what you were like. I went to see Irina, my shrink, yesterday, to tell her what's been going on. I needed to know that I was falling for _you _and not for the idea of the connection you represent. I had to know I didn't just build you up in my head. But I already knew it. You're not the girl in the picture, you're _real_."

He pulls my hands away and turns, putting his hands on my cheeks and looking into my eyes.

"You're this little firecracker and you drive me crazy, but I don't like when you're not around. When I look at your face my heart beats faster. And you make my palms sweat like I'm a friggin' teenager again. I don't know how to handle it, but I just want to do this right; I want to make this work. I can't lose anyone else right now. I can't lose you, because the only time things feel right is when I'm with you."

I lift my hands to his and squeeze, trying to control my breathing. "Do you think it's any different for me? Do you think you don't do the _same things_ to me?"

He stares at me with soft eyes and steps even closer, and I can feel every inch of him pressed against me. The air around us crackles and sizzles with the tension that's been building over the last several weeks.

I only get to see the determined look in his eyes briefly before his lips press against mine. He's soft at first… slow and tentative. His lower lip trembles against mine, all warm and soft and sweet. I open my mouth and pull his lip between my own. He groans, his minty breath floating over my wet lips as he presses his mouth firmer against mine.

I keep my eyes open; I can't imagine a more beautiful sight and I don't want to miss it. I slide my hands down his arms until they settle against his chest, where his heart is pounding out a staccato rhythm. His hands lift from my cheeks, hovering in the air above us. They curl into fists, like he's fighting the urge to touch me.

I freeze and my heart stutters in my chest because I know he's going to stop this. All I want to do is scream at him to please, please, _please _keep going.

I want to demand that he give in.

I want to beg him to touch me.

I lift my hands into the air, standing on the tips of my toes to reach. My fingers wrap around each of his fists, pulling them down toward my chest slowly. I hold our hands against my heart, feeling the rapid beat through his skin. I know he can feel it, too, and I hope he understands it's a good thing. This is how he makes me feel, too.

He tries to speak, but I squeeze him tighter. "Shutup," I murmur against his lips.

With my encouragement, he presses harder – sloppier. I stumble back, breaking away from him with a deep breath. He stares at me, eyes a deep pool of dark green that beckon me to him like a magnet.

I lift my hands to his shirt, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath my fingers. Sliding my hands higher, I feel the tickle of the soft hair at the nape of his neck in the palms of my hands.

I tug and he pulls back, closing his eyes tightly. "Bella," he moans.

"Don't stop," I plead, breathless. I want this. I want _him_. It has nothing to do with distraction this time and everything to do with how he makes me feel when I'm with him: safe, cared for. Happy.

Finally his restraint breaks and his warm fingers slide across my cheeks as he breathes against me. My spine is tingling, and every muscle in my body feels like it's in danger of melting. I know if I wasn't holding him so tight, I'd be in a puddle on the ground.

His kiss feels like the worst kind of tease… because he's so close. Right here. But it's not enough.  
His thumb strokes the curve of my jaw and my mouth falls open with a sound I've never heard myself make before. He takes the open opportunity, sliding his tongue against my lower lip. I sigh into his mouth. He tastes like mint and coffee, and the scruff on his chin tickles my lips.

His hands begin exploring – slowly, the tips of his fingers drift across my shoulders and down my arms. He slides one hand, and then the other, around my waist until his fingers settle on my butt. His lips are all softness, but I can feel other parts of him that are hard.

I inhale a heavy breath when he pulls me closer and my head falls back on my shoulders. His lips meet my throat with the softest of kisses, like feathers brushing across my skin. He drags his tongue in a trail from below my ear to where my neck meets my shoulder.

I tug at his hair again and he breaks away, resting his forehead on my shoulder. Heavy, hot breaths fall from his lips onto my skin, igniting something in me that yearns for more.

"I'm sorry… we should stop." He kisses my shoulder, twice, and then says against my skin, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about doing that all week."

He pulls back, eyes open and intense. I bite my lip, fighting the stupid grin that wants to be set free as we stare at each other all dopey-faced again.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of my heart. I want to tell him I haven't been able to stop thinking about it either, but all I can seem to do is nod dumbly as said grin finally lifts on my cheeks. He laughs and his hands slide around to settle on my hips.

He eases the tips of his fingers beneath the material of my shirt. "Did you lose your ability to speak? Man… I knew I was good."

I laugh and blush, pounding a fist against his chest, feeling free to touch him now that one of the walls between us has disappeared. I like it – touching him; being close.

He lifts a hand to my face and traces a finger across my mouth. I purse my lips and kiss his finger. "You're good, but you're not that good."

His shoulders relax as he breathes a sigh and he kisses me again, smiling against my lips. "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

I know we can't stay here like this forever, wrapped around each other, but the last thing I want to do is move. Not when I'm finally where I want to be.

I don't want this new development to change the way things are between us. First and foremost… he's my friend. Even if this kiss means we're going to be more to one another, I still want things to be how they've been. I don't want things to get weird.

I turn my head, looking down at the water and then back up at him. "So is this why you brought me here?" I tease, blushing.

"Believe it or not, no. I brought you here to show you this place."

"Well then, I think you should show me your boat."

"Whatever you want."

"Can we fish?" I'm eager now, excited even.

As if he can sense my excitement, he grins again. "Definitely, we just need to go get the gear."

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**I'm behind the couch with a blanket and a bottle of Nyquil, trying my best to fight off the **_**second **_**bout of the plague I've had this year so far.**

_Thank you so much for reading. You all make me smile and laugh when I'm feeling my worst, and it's true what they say... laughter is the best medicine there is._

**As always, leave some love and I'll do my very best to send you something in return.**

_xx_


	16. Chapter 16

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's pole (for fishing, perverts).**

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I feel like I'm floating on a cloud as Edward leads me toward the cottage to grab everything we'll need, like fishing poles and his tackle box. His fingers grip mine loosely and I can't help but like the feel of his hand around mine.

While he's gathering things, he motions toward the door and asks me to grab and fill a small cooler he has above the fridge with water.

Once we have everything we need we head back down to the water, setting everything inside the boat before he steps inside. He turns to me and holds his hands out. "Step to the edge."

I step forward and his hands grip my waist. His fingers tickle just below the edge of my shirt again as he lifts me into the air.

My heart is soaring, too.

Edward deposits me into the boat softly, squeezing me before he lets go and takes a seat at the back. I sit down, too, facing him as he turns and pulls the cord on the tiny outboard motor at the other end of the boat.

It rumbles to life with a loud roar that bounces off the trees. He looks over at me and there's this gleam in his eyes that's almost childlike. It's even more breathtaking than the view of the river. When he smiles, I want to kiss him again.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Definitely."

Edward unties the boat and maneuvers us away from the dock until we're gliding slowly through the waves. It's so beautiful here, and I wish I'd thought to bring my sketchbook with me. My eyes bounce everywhere, taking a mental picture for later. It's not just the trees and the water that are perfect, though; it's him, too.

It sounds silly but, for some reason, he looks different now that I know what his lips really feel like.

"Thank you," I tell him, shouting over the noise of the motor.

"For what?"

"For bringing me here," I tell him, and then blush. "And... for everything you said."

Edward nods his head and returns to navigating the boat. "I meant every word."

It's on the tip of my tongue to ask him how he has the ability to know exactly what I need when I need it, even when I'm not sure it's what I was looking for. This – him, the water, the cottage… the kiss – is exactly what I needed for things to feel right again.

After a few minutes, Edward cuts the engine and allows the boat to drift along with the current. He turns around and reaches for the fishing poles at his side.

"Done this before?" he asks, his face all business.

"Yep," I say proudly, fighting the urge to bounce in my seat.

"You're gonna have to touch a worm," he laughs.

I'm sure he assumes I'll have a problem with this. I don't, and I can't wait to show him that I'm not _that_ much of a sissy. I wiggle my fingers in his direction. "Bring it on."

He scoffs and hands me the smaller of the two poles. I place it in my lap, untangling the hook from where it's been stuck into one of the eyes. Edward opens the tackle box and pulls out the Styrofoam container full of dirt. He digs his finger into the mixture and pulls out a worm, handing the slimy and wiggly thing over to me. I reach out and take it from him, and then set to work with placing it on the hook.

"I can't believe you're touching that."

"Believe it, buddy." I grin, and then decide to get bold, "Still interested in kissing a girl who plays with worms?" I wink over at him.

He appears to think about it for a second and then winks back. "Just don't touch me until you wash your hands and we're good."

I laugh. "I think I can manage that. It's no fun unless there's touching."

Edward turns his face away from mine, but not before I see the pink flush of his cheeks. He shakes his head and laughs, busying himself with baiting his own hook. I smile to myself, liking the way he makes me feel free enough to say things like this. To behave so boldly. In previous times throughout my life, I can't remember a time ever feeling comfortable enough with another person to be this open. It really is the best feeling in the world.

Once I finish with my hook, I toss it over my shoulder and send the line flying through the air and into the water.

We're quiet for a while, the sounds of the water lapping against the boat and the soft whirrs of our lines being recast a soothing background noise. My eyes move to him and can't help but stare — the crinkles around his eyes are in full effect.

"When was the first time you did this?" I ask, pulling the crank on the reel in my hand slowly. Edward looks up at me, contemplating his answer.

"I think I was like, five," he says.

I'm just guessing, but I think that was before he lived with Charlie... Before I can ask, he opens his mouth and answers the question for me.

"I drove my dad and Pops crazy." He's staring out at the water now.

"Oh yeah?" I say, trying to remain calm. This has been a day of firsts for us, and this is definitely the only time I remember him ever mentioning his own father.

"I didn't want to _catch_ the fish. I wanted to _swim_ with them. " He pulls his pole out of the water and sends the line flying through the air and in again. "Charlie said I spent the entire trip trying to jump out of the boat."

"Ah, so you were a handful even back then," I say, grinning at the image of a tiny Edward trying to jump off a boat.

"Born and bred." He smiles and shakes his head, but not before winking at me.

"Were they close?" I ask, feeling a little hesitant. I don't want to ask the wrong thing, though, at this point, nothing between us should be off-limits.

"Who?"

"Charlie and… your father?"

As if he's just realizing what he let slip he pauses, seemingly contemplating what he wants to share. It takes him a few beats before he nods his head and looks down at the water.

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "They were."

"So that's how…" I trail off, hoping he'll continue this whole trend of opening up to me that began earlier on the dock.

"That's how," is all he says. He busies himself with setting down his pole and pulling a bottle of water from the cooler. He takes a sip and I look down at the water.

"I feel like," I say, still not looking at him, "like I don't know you. Wait, that's not right. I feel like I do, but there's so much I really _don't _know. And I want to. I mean, we're friends, and who knows...maybe more, now? You've seen me at my very worst, and I hope you know that, whether you're at your best or your worst or anywhere in between, I'm still going to be here."

"I know, Bella. I'm just not used to this," he replies. "Talking about myself. I've never met anyone that I wanted to share things with. I'm trying."

I reel in all the way and fling the pole forward once more, casting my line in a different spot.

"Start slow," I tell him. "Or… tell me if there's something you don't want to talk about. I'll understand."

He smiles at me. "Charlie was my godfather," he says. "Nobody ever thinks when they accept an invitation like that that it'll actually amount to anything. I guess we all learned… it does."

"Can I ask…?"  
"When I was nine my father dropped me off at a friend's house while he went out on patrol. He didn't come home."

I want to scoot over until I'm right next to him. Hug him. Make him feel safe. But I settle for telling him with my eyes how sorry I am.

"Don't be sorry, Bella. It's life." He shrugs. "They sent me into foster care, and I was there for a few months; it sucked, but I made a few... friends," he says with a grimace. "Then Pops came to get me. Apparently there were a lot of legal hoops he had to get through before they would let him bring me home. But your dad… he was a good guy. The best. He fought for me. He didn't want me to grow up in the system."

It makes me happy to know this about Charlie. Though we never had the chance to know each other as father and daughter, it's obvious he was born to be a parent. It's obvious he had that passion, and it warms my heart that I know, if he had been given the chance by Renee, he would have been just as good to me.

"It was hard for us at first. You were right about me being difficult. Poor Pops… I'm lucky he didn't lock me up and throw away the key. He laughs, but there's no humor behind it. "But he was patient, and eventually we made it through."

I smile at him softly, hoping he understands that we will, too. He's been through so much – too much, really. Tragedy after tragedy. No wonder it's hard for him to talk to people. No wonder it's hard for him to trust that I'm not going to run away when I've got the answers I originally sought out. I don't know any other way to make him understand, other than what I've been doing. I hope it's enough to make him see that I'm going to continue being here, no matter what happens.

Our discussion ends abruptly when my line snags and the pole in my hands starts wiggling back and forth. I know what this means: I've got a bite. I need to take it slow, bring it in gradually. If I move too quickly, I could lose it.

Oddly enough, the similarities between the fish and the man sitting next to me seem significant.

"I think I've got something," I whisper excitedly, glancing up at Edward and then back to my hands.

"Take it slow," he tells me, turning to face my direction and forgetting about his own pole as he watches.

I reel in my line a little more, feeling the tug and pull of my catch, and then I watch as it flops out of the water and turns in a circle mid-air. I race to reel in more of the line, trying to keep the fish above water as it continues to flop this way and that. Edward stands up a little too quickly and causes the boat to rock, knocking me off balance until I'm falling backward and right into him.

We both land in a heap at the bottom of the boat. He wraps his arms around my stomach, groaning in pain. I can feel him breathing heavily into my hair, and I begin to giggle uncontrollably.

"Oh my god, I'm hopeless," I say.

He starts to laugh, too. "Thank you."

"For what?" I ask, relaxing into him and looking up at the sky.

His arms tighten around me. "You make everything better."

My heart clenches in the best way at his words, because he does the same thing for me.

"I'm glad my embarrassment could help."

He kisses my neck, lifting his legs up and hugging them around my body. "I'm serious. This is much nicer than being all the way at the other end of the boat."

"The boat isn't _that _big, Edward."

"I know, but for some reason… an inch feels like a million miles."

My heart swells and my stomach flips. "Yeah," I say, turning my head to see his face. "It does."

**x-x-x**

We spend the rest of the afternoon that way: on our backs in the tiny boat, just talking and staring up at the sky. He tells me more about all the times he came here as a kid with Charlie. My favorite story is the one about the first time he actually paid attention long enough to catch a fish.

...And then spent an hour insisting it be thrown back to its family.

He also admits that today is the first time he's been out on the water since Charlie's death. I can't help but be thankful he picked me to share it with.

We continue chatting lightly, and I decide to get a little braver and ask him why exactly they think he shouldn't be doing his job right now.

Edward sighs. "Sam thinks it's better for me if I'm not out there."

"And how do you feel about that?"

I feel the tension in his arms and hear the anger in his voice when he answers, "I think it's bullshit."

My fingers glide across his forearms, trying to comfort him. "Have you told him that?" I ask.

"Repeatedly."

"What's he saying you have to do to make things right again?"

"Too much."

"Can I help?"

His arms tighten and I feel his lips against my ear. "You are, Bella."

As much as I don't want the closeness – the comfort of literally being wrapped up in him – to end, eventually the position we're in starts to become less than comfortable. We both decide it's time to stop lazing around and leave our little bubble on the river. Getting up isn't without great effort and balance (not one of my strong suits), but we manage it.

The sun is just beginning to set over the horizon when we arrive back at the cottage, coloring the sky in a wash of pink and gold. Time seems to fly when we're together; it's nice.

We carry all the gear from the boat toward the small shed in the yard, and since I don't want to be away from him, I sit on the steps and watch as Edward puts everything away. I'm disappointed we'll be leaving soon; I want to stay here forever.

My stomach chooses to make its presence known and remind us both how long we've been gone. Edward laughs.

"I guess we were out there for a long time."

"Yeah." I nod.

"I don't have much in the way of food, but I can make you my specialty. That is... if you trust me."

Laughing, I ask, "Why wouldn't I trust you? Are you _that_ bad of a cook?"

"Bachelor." He points to his chest. "Who was raised by not just one, but two bachelors."

I stare at him for a second, trying to decipher what he's said. Two bachelors? And then it hits me…

"What happened to your mom?" I ask, a little frightened of the answer.

He shrugs and faces away from me. "Your guess is as good as mine on that one."

My heart sinks. The hits just keep on coming. I choose to keep quiet, not wanting to drag either of us down after the fantastic day we've had. Lord knows I don't want to talk about my mother, either.

So instead, I ask, "Charlie couldn't cook either, then?"

Edward laughs and turns to face me. He walks over and stands at the bottom of the stairs, lifting his hands and running his fingers through my hair. I look up at him and smile.

"Nope. But he did teach me how to make a mean peanut butter and jelly."

"It's a good thing that's one of my favorites then, huh?"

"I guess it is," he says, grinning.

He bends down to kiss me on the forehead and I wrap my arms around his waist briefly, offering him any small form of comfort I can through actions and not incessant questions.

We head inside and Edward kicks me out of the kitchen so he can make his "super-secret peanut butter and jelly". Like there's much of a secret to a sandwich that lists all the ingredients in its name. But I give in, moving into the tiny living room to look over his bookshelf while he puts together our dinner. I'm not much of a book person, but it seems like he might be.

After a few minutes I settle myself on the couch, pulling my legs up close to my body as Edward comes into the living room with plates.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

"A little."

Edward puts a plate of sandwiches and, of all things, a banana on the table. He moves to the old stove, bending down in front of it and turning the crank on the front to open the door. There's a box of matches on the floor that he uses to strike up a small flame inside. Once the fire begins to crackle, he shuts the door and comes to join me on the loveseat.

I'm still trying not to laugh at the banana. "Do you want to explain that?" I point to it.

"You can't eat peanut butter and jelly without a banana," he tells me. "Ask Elvis."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm serious!" he laughs, picking up the banana and beginning to peel it.

"Don't most people cut it up and put it _on_ the sandwich?"

"Maybe, but I only had one. I didn't want to be greedy."

"That's very sweet of you. Someday I'll tell my girlfriends 'and on our first date, he shared his banana with me!'"

Realizing too late what I've just said, I slap my hand over my mouth, feeling the heat in my cheeks as I blush furiously.

Edward takes a quick bite of said banana and looks away. His cheeks are quite pink as well. I almost wish he would say something, but I'm not sure there's much he _can_ say to that. At least I didn't reference our grandchildren.

Ravenous after the long day of being on the water, we both devour the food. When I finish, I sink into the couch, closing my eyes and enjoying the warmth of the fire. Not to mention the company.

Edward angles himself toward me. Instinctually, I can feel his eyes crawling across me and the air between us suddenly feels a little too warm.

"Come here," he says, in that sexy-smooth voice.

I wiggle in his direction, unsure of where to put myself. He reaches out and wraps his arms around me, drawing my back against his chest. I close my eyes and snuggle in close. He smells like a mixture of the fresh air we spent all day in and the strawberry jelly we just ate. Clean and sweet.

"This is nice."

"Mmmhmm," he replies, his fingers working their way beneath the hem of my sweatshirt. I like that he likes touching my skin. "Bella?"

"Yeah?" I ask quietly, giggling lightly as his finger makes a circle around my belly button.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispers.

He doesn't voice it like a question, but more like he's telling me a secret — that he wants to spend the night with me. In any case, it's not like he really needs to ask: I want that, too.

My hands slide along his thighs, squeezing the tight muscles beneath my fingers. I turn my head, looking up at him. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."

**x-x-x**

I open my eyes, stretch, and look around, taking in where I am. When we got here yesterday I'd presumed that the closed door in the hallway was a bathroom; it turned out to be a decent size bedroom. I smile and bury my face in the pillow.

I'm in Edward's bed. It smells like him all around me, coupled with the warm, smoky smell of the old wood stove in the living room that must have burned all night to keep us warm.

Yesterday seems like a dream. Being with him, hearing him finally tell me things I wanted so badly for him to say. It was perfect. I couldn't have asked for anything better when I came here. I expected to go home with nothing, but what I've gained in such a short amount of time is, well… _everything_.

His body is warm next to mine and I really want to turn over and see the way he looks while he's asleep. I can hear the rustle of his sleepy breaths as they hit the pillow. Giving in to the urge to look at him, I turn my head. And, just like yesterday was, he's perfect.

As if my movement has woke him up, too, his hand grips my thigh and he yawns, mouth forming this perfect little 'O'. His eyes slowly flutter open, all glassy and green. Coupled with the rumpled hair and sleepy smile, I don't know that I've ever seen him look so delicious.

"How did you sleep?" he asks, voice rough from slumber as he moves his hand in a circle across my thigh, massaging.

I nuzzle deeper into the pillow, fighting a grin as my heart starts beating a steady rhythm of excitement. "Good," I whisper. "I don't even remember falling asleep."

"You were out like a light." He slides his hand away and rolls over onto his back, lifting his arms to rub the sleep from his eyes.

I roll over to face him, reaching up to play with the hair that curls around his ear. It's been so long since I've been with someone like this. And even though we didn't _technically_ do anything, it feels more intimate than anything I can ever remember doing with another guy in the past. I don't have to ask myself if it's because it's Edward. I know it is.

As if he can sense what I'm thinking, he wraps his arm around my body and pulls me closer. He gives me a soft kiss and then pulls away just a fraction, opening his eyes to look at me.

"Hi."

"Hi," I reply, blushing. I bury my face in my arms, suddenly feeling awkward when I notice his bare chest.

"Don't be shy," he says. I can hear the smile in his voice. "Last night I shared my banana with you. It shouldn't be a big deal to wake up next to me." He laughs.

"Oh my god," I cover my face and try to wiggle away from him, but he grabs me. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do." I sit up and wiggle again, trying to break free.

"Stop, stop, come back."

He's still laughing, and now, so am I. I debate for only a second on fighting him, but I don't technically _want _to battle this. He feels right. Everything about this feels right, even when he's teasing me.

"Fine," I sigh.

I make a big show of returning to him, rolling over and crawling up his body slowly. I'll show him. His eyes follow my movement as I climb higher, stopping when my thighs are wrapped around one of his. I place my hands on his bare chest to support my body and stare down at his face.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice thick and rumbly.

Instead of answering I bite my lip and move my fingers along his skin, touching, feeling, learning. I want to remember the way he feels under my fingertips, which spots make him squirm. I want to commit to memory which spots make him breathe heavier, which spots will make him lose it altogether.

I trace a path through the hair on his chest with the tip of my finger and he takes a deep breath in through his nose. His chest rises and falls with the movement, and I know I'll draw this exact same moment later. I move higher, skimming the bone just below his shoulder and he closes his eyes, biting his lip. It's obvious from his facial features that he likes my touch. I can tell from the way my lower body brushes against him that he _really_ likes it.

I like it, too.

The curve of sinew on the insides of his arms flexes with every new touch. There's a slight outline of muscles just above his belly button that, when I massage my hands into it, makes him grab my hips and hold me tight. It makes me feel safe, even though I know I have nothing to be afraid of.

Those same muscles start to flutter when I take my hand away and lower my mouth to the same spots my fingers have just been. I move up his body to kiss his shoulder, still watching as those same muscles start to thrum faster. When I slide my lips along his hot skin, working my way toward his jaw, he groans deep in his belly and turns his face into me. He presses his lips to mine urgently, opening his mouth to twist his tongue against mine.

"You're killing me," he says against my mouth and I smile before kissing him back.

His hands pull me closer, and even though every part of him is pushing against every part of me, somehow, it just doesn't feel close enough. I know he feels the same when his arms slide around my waist and he pulls my body all the more tighter to his.

His fingers slip below the hem of my shirt and the butterflies in my stomach start going crazy. His hands continue to rise, pulling the material along with them. I shiver, but I don't stop him; I just lift myself up and help remove my sweatshirt. He tosses it on the floor and when I try to lean down and kiss him again, he stops me with his stare.

His eyes leave a trail of fire down my body as he looks at me. And then his fingers follow the same path. My heart beats faster with every second that passes, and now, with him touching me, I'm afraid it might jump out of my chest.

It's so innocent, so simple. Just touching. Just looking. But it feels like so much more. Everything with him feels like more. And that's okay, because, though it took us a while to get here, now that we are, I know…

I never want to go back.

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**Thank you to everyone who's reading, reviewing, tweeting and just generally giving me warm fuzzies because of these two. You definitely make it worth the time it takes to write this and get it out to you every week. I am complete fail at review replies, but I figure you guys would much rather have a chapter than a reply. Am I right? As always though, I will do my best to send you a teaser if I can!**

_xx_


	17. Chapter 17

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you. Nicki, you do way more than any beta should have to and I can't tell you how much it means to me._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

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There's a slight breeze blowing into the open windows from outside, bringing with it the sounds of chirping birds and leaves rustling in the wind. I look up at Edward moving above me, bright and beautiful from the sun filtering through the windows that casts him into streams of brightness. I feel like a teenager all over again, all caught up in the glow of a crush for the first time.

Only, this time around, it's better.

My lips are numb from trailing over his scruffy cheeks and jaw, from kissing his perfect lips. There's a tingle low in my belly that's teetering right on the edge of bliss. I don't know how much time has gone by since waking up next to him.

Really, I don't care; I can't seem to get enough.

Somehow his body has molded itself on top of mine, grinding, pushing, rubbing, hands in more places than his mouth, which at this point seems impossible. Every movement brings my legs higher around his hips until I'm certain there's no distinction between where my body stops and his starts. The strings of muscles beneath my legs burn with a dull ache.

It's so startlingly wonderful that, even with our bottom halves still clothed, I can't remember actual sex ever being this good.

When my fingers glide up the sticky-hot skin of his back his hips move faster against mine. He's all deep grind and low grunts onto my skin, breath warmer – heavier – with every strike of his body against mine. Like a match against the side of its box, I feel like I'm in danger of bursting into flames.

His tempo changes when I move my hands into his hair, melting into slow pushes, all tenderness and sweet rubs.

I can't decide if I like the fast or the slow or the in-between better. They all feel good. Any – no, definitely all of them – are the best thing I've ever experienced. Like free-falling from a roller coaster when your heart jumps into your throat and the exhilaration lingers long after you've reached the bottom.

Every movement and touch and kiss works its way into my brain, overriding every bit of sadness and anger the confusion of the past month had burned into my memories. I'm dizzier with every push and breathless with every retreat.

What I _am_ sure of is that if I could, I'd stay here forever underneath him, on the edge of something great. I won't be on the edge for long. Like the _click click click_ of that climbing roller coaster, soon, I'll reach the top and there will be nowhere to go but down.

That's when I start to free-fall and I tell him so.

"I'm coming…"

And then, with a grunt and a push and my name sounding better than it ever has before, I know he's fallen too.

Our bodies slow; morphing from frantic to calm as we each take a few minutes to catch our breath. I can't fathom separating my hands from his body, and it makes me wonder… how many others have there been? It's something I don't want to think about, but now that it's there I can't help but do that very same thing. Have there been many other girls in this position with him, other women who know what it feels like for Edward to make them come?

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." He ducks down, pushing his lips against my throat, like he can't stand to stop kissing me for even one second.

"How long has it been?" I have to struggle to keep my voice from rising as his teeth join the party.

He stops mid kiss and pulls back to look at me. "Since?"

"You know," I say. My cheeks heat up. "This. Us."

He bites his lip and my heart starts dancing in my chest. I'm a little frightened about what his answer might be.

"A while," he mumbles, looking away.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Look at you." I gesture to his face, his bare chest. Him.

Edward runs his fingers through his messy hair, looking uncomfortable. "I'm being honest, Bella. There's never… I mean, there have been girls. But, I haven't really _been_ with anyone, not like this. I've never really wanted to..." He trails off and ducks his head back to my neck, tongue sliding along my skin until his lips wrap around my earlobe. "Until now."

I smile, smug because this gorgeous guy chose me over faceless, nameless others, and wrap my arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And what about you?"

"There have been a few, but nothing serious in a really long time."

"I find _that _hard to believe."

"Why?"

He lowers his mouth to my chest, swirling his tongue in the dip between my breasts. The butterflies in my stomach start doing jumping jacks and I bury my nails in the skin of his arms.

He pulls back, eyes tracing a path of fire down my face and body. "Look at _you_."

**x-x-x**

Eventually, Edward and I do have to go back to Port Angeles. We both have to work on Monday, and as much as I know I'd like to stay with him in our cottage-bubble for days on end, it's just not possible.

I elect not to shower; instead I throw on one of his old t-shirts under my hoodie and pull my hair into a messy ponytail. It reminds me of how much things have changed – how much _I've _changed since coming to Washington... since meeting Edward. Free doesn't begin to describe what I feel inside.

In the past, I never would have gone _anywhere _without first showering and checking the mirror, making sure things were in order. The fact that I no longer mind being myself – that I'm comfortable in my own skin – is truly wonderful. No matter what happens now, or what the future holds, I will always be thankful that my discovery – of where I really came from – helped me in figuring out who I truly _am_.

It's weird, but I feel like I'm where I'm _supposed _to be for the first time in my life – like I'm home.

After helping Edward pack up the cottage and ensuring that everything's secure, we hop in his truck to begin the trek back.

We both decide stopping for a late lunch before we get on the road sounds like a good idea, and he chooses the Forks Diner. It's small inside, though not as tiny as our usual place, the Haven, but it's cozy. I've come to find that most places around here are. Edward leads us to a booth in the back and we seat ourselves across from each other.

A few people wave hello and call out to him. It definitely doesn't surprise me at all to find out he knows people here, too. Including the sweet older lady named Jessica who serves us our lunch.

He flirts with her, too.

"Well now, who's this pretty young thing?" She hands us menus and bounces her eyes between Edward and I. "Did you go out and get a girlfriend when I wasn't lookin'?"

Edward smiles at me. "I might have," he says softly.

My heart starts beating double-time in my chest. _Did he just call me his girlfriend?_

"Now what kinda answer is that?" the waitress asks.

"You'll have to ask her…" he says, fidgeting as he looks over at me. His face is filled with uncertainty; I can't imagine mine is much different. I have no idea what to say. I look back and forth between the two of them and try to force a smile.

Obviously tired of waiting for one of us to speak, the waitress puts her hands on her hips and gives Edward a stern look. "Where's your manners young'un? Don't you know that's a question for the man to ask?"

"I was working on that. Geez, you're killing my game here, Jess," he mock-whispers.

"Just joshin' with you, sweet face." She laughs and ruffles his hair, and then turns to me. "Where are _my _manners? I'm Jessica."

"I'm Bella," I say, reaching out to shake her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

She squeezes my shoulder and leans in close. "You make sure this boy treats you right, sweetheart," Jessica tells me.

I blush, thinking of all the ways he 'treated' me this morning. "He's doing a pretty good job so far."

Edward coughs and lowers his face into his napkin to hide. I can't help but grin. Jessica seems to be none the wiser to what I'm actually referring to.

"Well, honey, that's real good! You know he learned all that charm from that Pop a' his. The ladies in town never stood a chance against the Chief…" She sighs all dramatically and clutches her chest, looking up at the ceiling. "He sure was a looker."

Edward and I both snicker and he winks at me across the table.

"Just don't let his lack a' manners throw you off, sweet thing. You know how men are. They can't do nothin' unless they got a woman standing nearby, tellin' them how to do it right!"

She laughs, sauntering off after we order to strike up another conversation a few tables away. As soon as she's out of ear-shot, I start to giggle. I can't help it. She totally killed his game.

"Man," Edward clutches his chest. "Remind me to stop trying to flirt with older women. It doesn't get me anywhere."

"Aww, you're cute," I say. "But she's right, you know."

"About?"

"You gotta ask."

He runs his fingers through his hair, looking nervous. "This is completely ridiculous, you realize that, don't you?"

"Yes," I say, giggling again.

Edward reaches across the table and grabs my hand; he stares down at my fingers and then glances up at me as he leans forward. "You know that's what I want, right?" he asks softly.

I pause for a second as Jessica brings us our food, watching him from the corner of my eye. He's really quite adorable. I like messing with him like this, having someone to flirt with and tease. I bite my lip and smile, deciding to put him out of his misery. "I'm pretty sure I got the idea."

He clears his throat. "Is that what _you_ want?"

I squeeze his hand. "Yes."

His grin is all dazzle as he leans further across the table and kisses my lips slowly.

"Looks like the boy did it right!" I hear Jessica yell and I laugh into Edward's mouth. We pull away and he starts muttering under his breath as he picks up his burger and takes a bite.

I pop a French fry into my mouth. "What do you think the Chief would think of you dating his daughter?"

Edward finishes chewing and wipes his mouth. "I think I'd have to hide his guns."

He grins at me and I grin back. I think he's probably right.

Before we leave the diner, Jessica (who I've learned is actually Mrs. Newton), hugs Edward and offers her condolences on Charlie's death. It's sweet to know that my dad is so well liked in so many places. It warms my heart knowing that he had so many people who cared about him.

The drive back to my house seems to take less time than our adventure to Forks. When you don't know where you're going, time always seems to slow. But when you're sure of your destination it always seems to speed up. I feel nothing but disappointment when Edward pulls his truck into my driveway, and I almost want to beg him to turn around and go back.

He stops and turns off the engine, looking up at the house. I look over at him and move to open my door. "Did you want to come inside for a little bit?"

Edward grabs my arm but doesn't look at me. "Wait. Something's not right."

I'm alarmed by the change in his tone. Gone is the joking tone of it from just a few minutes earlier, when he held my hand as he drove and hummed along to the radio. It's all warning and alarm now, steel wrapped and scary. "What do you mean?"

He doesn't answer; instead, he reaches into the cup holder and grabs his phone, shoving it into my hands. "Stay here. Call the station, tell them to send someone to the Chief's house."

"What are you—" I start to interrupt, but he leans over and opens the glove box and pulls out his gun.

I'm on instant alert now. If he needs his gun to go into my house, something isn't right. "Edward, tell me what's wro—"

He opens the door of the truck, cutting me off with a grim look. "I'm serious, Bella. Do not move."

My heart starts beating faster as I stare from his face, back up to the house. I try to ask him what's happening, but he slams the door before I'm able. I'm frozen in place, confused as I watch him survey the yard.

Edward makes his way toward the staircase slowly, his face all business. He has his hands poised in front of him with his gun pointed to the ground, both hands firmly wrapped around the butt of it. I imagine it's the way he was taught to hold his weapon during training.

I have no idea what's going on, and my chest is tight with worry for him. Suddenly, I remember what he said. I look down at his phone and flip it open, fumbling with the buttons as I scroll his phone book searching for the number he asked me to call. I'm distracted, though, looking frantically between the phone and Edward as he begins to climb the steps toward my house.

With shaking fingers, I press send and hold the phone up to my ear. The line begins to crackle and then rings once, twice.

"Port Angeles Police Department, this is Jane, how can I help you?" a loud, female voice answers.

I clear my throat. "Hi, this is Bella – um Isabella Dwyer. Edward, I mean um, Officer Masen asked me to call and say that we need someone at my – I mean the Chief's house. Chief Swan."

"Is this an emergency?" she asks. She sounds skeptical; I imagine they probably don't get calls like this very often. I can't really blame her.

I look back toward the house and consider what she's asking. "I don't know," I reply, frustrated with Edward for insisting I stay here and not bothering to tell me what's going on. "Just send someone!"

I hang up the phone and my nostrils flare as I throw it into the cup holder at my side. I stare back up at the house, scared that I've lost sight of Edward.

A million scenarios flit through my mind, from bad to worse to downright horrific, and I give a startled squeak when he reappears. Anxiously, I watch with one hand on the door, ready to fling it open if need be, as Edward starts coming back down the stairs. He tucks his gun safely into the back of his pants when he reaches the bottom. Our eyes lock, and what I see there isn't at all encouraging.

I throw open the door and jump out of the truck. "What's going on?"

He sighs, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. "It looks like someone broke into your house."

My heartbeat picks up and my eyes widen. "Wait. What? How do you know that?"

He turns around and points up to the house. Now that I'm out of the truck I finally see what he's referring to: the glass around my back door is shattered, the door itself hanging wide open.

It certainly wasn't like that when we left yesterday.

"Oh my god, I didn't even see…"

"Did you call the station?"

"Yes, I told someone named Jane what you said to tell them."

"Okay," he says, nodding. He looks agitated – nervous, even. His fingers are still ruffling in his hair and his eyes are everywhere. I look over the rest of him, making sure he's okay. His business face is still firmly in place, but the rest of him appears to be fine.

I grab his hand and squeeze until his attention snaps on me. "I'm sure it's nothing," I tell him, trying to convince not just him, but myself. I can't hide the shake in my voice when I say it, though.

He nods, looking anything but convinced.

Sirens begin to blare in the distance, drawing our attention to the street. I guess that the dispatcher took me seriously – not one, but _three_ police cars pull in behind Edward's truck, men swarming out of each car with their hands on their weapons. Edward keeps his grip on me and pulls me in their direction.

"Yo, Masen, what's going on?" one of them asks. He looks between the two of us and a glimmer of recognition seems to pass across his face when he sees me.

"Embry," Edward greets him. "I checked the door. It looks like a standard B and E. Nothing seems to be missing, but there's a mess in the kitchen and some broken pictures in the living room. Perp seems to be long gone."

Embry pulls a notebook from his breast pocket and flips it open. He begins writing. "Any idea how long ago this happened?"

"No, we've been in Forks since yesterday morning."

The other officers hover behind Embry and Edward, listening as they discuss what's happened. They all seem to possess that same recognition in their eyes when they look at me. I'm sure they know exactly who I am. Suddenly uncomfortable with the scrutiny, I angle my body behind Edward's a bit.

"Together?" Embry asks, his voice rising a little. He makes this motion with his head and his face scrunches in my direction.

Edward sighs and glances at me from the corner of his eyes. "Yes. Together," he says through tight lips.

"She's the Chief's daughter," Embry says. It's a whisper, like he's afraid someone will hear he's said something inappropriate.

"I'm aware of that, Call, thanks."

Embry looks between Edward and I, then he grins as he holds his hand out to me. "Hello there. I'm Embry Call. What's your name?"

"Bella," I mumble, looking down at the ground.

"Call," Edward warns. There's a growl in the timbre of his voice I haven't heard before. "Leave her alone."

He laughs and when I look up, he winks at me. "Lighten up, Masen."

Another car rounds the corner, the rumble of the muffler echoing between the houses on the otherwise quiet street. When it pulls into my driveway Jasper steps out, dressed in plain clothes.

"I heard the call come over the scanner," he says as he walks up. "What's going on?"

He turns and nods his head at another guy. All the officers grunt and greet each other like old friends. I feel out of place and my comfort level is quickly diminishing. I let go of Edward's hand and cross my arms over my chest. I don't like that they're treating this like a picnic in the park when someone has been in my house, possibly rifling through my things.

"Seems someone broke in to the house," Embry replies.

Edward must sense my discomfort. He clears his throat. "Can you just get up there and do your job so we can get inside and clean up?"

The boys disperse, some of them returning to their vehicles to leave and others heading into the house. Jasper follows the officers when they go inside while Edward and I hang back for a few minutes.

"Are you okay?" he asks, stepping close and reaching up to touch my face.

"Yeah," I say, even though it's obvious that's a lie – I'm still shaking. "I just… who would do this?"

He doesn't answer right away, but the furrow in his brow tells me he's thinking. "I don't know."

I nod silently and then move my body into his side. My knees feel like they'll give out at any moment, and all I can do is try and picture what my house looks like now. It was perfect when we left it, clean and organized just the way I wanted it to be. Edward wraps his arms around me, holding me up in more ways than one.

After about fifteen minutes, Jasper calls down the stairs for us to come up. Edward follows behind as I make my way up the stairs. There's broken glass all over the landing and scattered throughout Charlie's old workroom; the window above the door is completely shattered.

Jasper holds my hands as I step over the glass, careful not to let me fall. Mail that I'd brought in on Friday night is scattered all over the floor of the kitchen. It's torn in tiny little pieces, like someone ran it through a shredder and threw it in the air like confetti.

I look down at it, remembering the excitement I felt when I checked the mail and saw that the electric bill had _my _name on it. It was such a small thing, but to see it destroyed messes with my heart a little.

It's like someone is trying to show me that everything I've built here can be ripped apart.

Thrown in the air like confetti... And then it hits me.

My mothers' voice echoes in my ears: _"We aren't done here, young lady."_

Every heads in the room turns to me when I say, "I think I know who did this."

* * *

***ducks behind the couch* Please don't hit the author, 'kay? Go back and read the beginning. ;)  
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_Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can never say it enough. I'm still convinced I have the absolute best readers in the fandom. I love hearing what you think after every chapter._

**xx**


	18. Chapter 18

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

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_Every head in the room turns to me when I say, "I think I know who did this."_

Like someone has pressed a pause button, everything around me stops. If it weren't for the sound of my own breath in my ears, I'm sure I could probably hear a pin drop.

Embry's hand hovers in mid-air above his notebook. The two other officers in the living room are frozen, their mouths hanging open while they stare at me. Edward's face freezes into a mask of confusion and what I think might possibly be anger, which honestly worries me. I don't know what he's thinking, but it can't be good.

Edward steps around me and I turn my head to the side. "Bella? What are you talking about?"

"I know who did this," I reply. "It was her. It had to be."

My words don't help erase the confused look he's working with, but I'm too stunned by my own revelation to make much sense. At least the anger fades from his face.

All I know is that this couldn't have just been some random break-in. It wasn't just some kids or a stupid criminal.

It _had_ to be my mother.

I should have known she wouldn't let go easily. This is her M.O. – it's exactly like her to want to remind me that she still has power over me. What better way is there to try and scare me into thinking that no matter how much I may think I've moved on, grown up and gotten away… she still has the ability to crush it all.

Sadly, it's true.

She still has a hold on me that I'll never fully be rid of, no matter how hard I try. Her influence will be something I'll deal with for the rest of my life.

"_Renee_?" Edward asks with a hard edge in his voice. "You think Renee did this?"

"I don't mean to interrupt here, but can one of you tell me what you're talking about?" Embry asks.

Another officer interrupts before either of us can reply, "Would this happen to be the same person you called in a one-six-oh on a few weeks back, Masen?"

"Yeah," Edward answers, his voice tight. "Same person."

Their voices fade into the background as they discuss the reason for Edward's call a few weeks ago when my mother was here. My attention, however, is elsewhere. I can't stop staring at the mess on the floor. At what she's done.

"Miss Dwyer?" Embry brings my attention to him. "I know you suspect your mother is responsible, but do you have any reason to believe this could have been anyone else?"

"What?" I ask, confused. "Why would you think that? No, this has her mark stamped all over it. It had to be her."

Edward squeezes my arm. "What he means is... could there be any other person that might have a reason to do this to you?"

I shake my head back and forth and squeeze my eyes shut. Of course not – I haven't been around here long enough to make enemies. The few people I do know wouldn't do this, anyway. There is nobody else that I can think of except for her. "No. Not that I… not that I can think of."

"There's a possibility Sue Clearwater had something to do with it," Edward says quickly. "She was pretty upset a few weeks ago. But I can't imagine her doing anything like this." He motions his hands around the kitchen.

My eyes move back to the mess on the floor, considering the possibility that anyone but my mom could have done this. Sue was upset that one time I saw her, and Edward admitted she didn't like me very much. But is she capable of this?

I don't know her well enough to gauge, but I _do_ know my mother well enough.

In my eyes, she's the only suspect. This was her.

My chest tightens with fear and my hands start to shake as I stare at the floor. My own mother... she was never easy to live with, but at one time she'd seemed to love me enough to want to protect me.

Maybe it's this thought that gives me such despair that, before I can fight it, doubt begins creeping into my mind. My stomach twists and turns.

..._What if she's right?_

_...What if Edward is only doing this to get back at me for hurting Charlie?_

My shoulders fall and my bottom lip starts to tremble. I look down again at the mess left on my floor, in my house. Because it is _my_ house – my dad left it to _me_. I can't be that person anymore; I won't. She doesn't own me. I just want this to be over and done. I'm sick and tired of being afraid. I'm different now. I won't let her control me the way she used to.

I simply refuse to allow her influence to make me doubt anything, especially Edward. Not after the last few days we've had together.

I drop to my hands and knees on the floor, hands shaking as I sweep them across the tile and gather the tiny pieces of my new life. I start to put them into a pile to be sorted later, wanting some order and normalcy. Just wanting this mess gone.

And then I pause because I'm doing what I always do – keeping things too neat, too cold and unfeeling._ What am I doing? _This is exactly what she wants, what she intended to happen. I will _not _give her the satisfaction of letting what she did actually work on me. I won't turn back into what I used to be.

"Miss Dwyer?" Embry says urgently. I don't turn my head to look, but I can hear the annoyance in his voice. "Please don't touch that. We need to finish our report."

"Ma'am, please don't touch that," the other officer says at the same time.

With my hands full of tiny pieces of paper, I look up slowly and then around the room. They're all staring at me like I'm some animal in a zoo. My hands start shaking harder in frustration and I lower my eyes in embarrassment. My eyes begin to burn with the threat of tears.

Edward crouches in front of me and grabs my hands. He peels my fingers open one at a time, turning them over until the scraps of paper sail back to the floor. He places his hands on my cheeks, warm and comforting, and tilts my head until my eyes are locked on his. I blink up at him tearily.

"Stop," he whispers, "its okay, Bella. They need to finish taking our statements and file the report. I promise you as soon as they're done, we'll clean this up."

He wraps his arms around my shoulders and draws me up from the floor.

"I'm sorry," I choke, standing up and wrapping my arms around him. He moves his hands lower and I bury my face against his chest, crying softly into his shirt.

"It's okay," he whispers in my ear and holds me tighter.

I hear Embry's throat clear and pull back a little to turn my head. He's staring at Edward's hands on my body, like he's surprised we're so close. I can't blame him.

"She's from out of town, right? Your mother." His eyes bounce between Edward and me. I'm not sure who he's asking, but I nod.

"Yes, California."

"Are you certain she's still in town?"

"Well… no, but I… I can bet she is. My mother doesn't let go of anything easily." _Except apparently my father.  
_  
"Full name is Renee Dwyer?"

"Yes."

Embry writes down the information in his notebook. "I'll call out to the hotels in town and check the guest lists. If she's here, we'll get her into the station and ask her some questions. We'll get to the bottom of this, Miss Dwyer. I promise you."

"Thank you," I say, squeezing Edward tightly.

"In the meantime, do you have someone you can call about this window?"

Before I can answer, Edward replies for me, "I'll give Waylon a call. He probably won't be able to make it out until tomorrow, but we'll get it fixed."

He brushes his fingers below the hem of my sweatshirt and touches my bare skin. I shiver.

"I'll stick around and help you patch it up. I've got some cardboard in my car actually. I was taking some boxes from the shop for Ali the other night and haven't had a chance to drop them off yet," Jasper says, looking nervous, and then adds, "You know... if you want."

"Yeah, that'd be great," Edward says.

"I'll be back." Jasper walks through the kitchen and outside.

Embry and the other officers continue looking at the mess in my kitchen and living room, writing down details and taking pictures. Edward doesn't leave my side the entire time. He's holding me together and I think he knows it. I try my best to breathe deep and get control of the overwhelming emotions flowing through me.

I feel terrible for doubting him for even one second. I kiss his arm discreetly when no one is looking at us, apologizing silently to both him and myself for not trusting him.

Once they're finished with their investigation, the officers get ready to leave. They're all polite and friendly and, before he goes, Embry offers me his card. "Please call me if you think of anything else, Miss Dwyer."

"Thank you," I say. I smile at him because he knew Charlie. "And please call me Bella."

"Deal," Embry grins and winks.

"_Goodbye,_ Call," Edward grumbles as he pulls me closer. I bury my face in his chest and grin a little.

I think he's cute when he's jealous.

Embry's laugh echoes through the kitchen as he leaves. "Toodles, Masen."

Edward kisses the top of my head and pulls back. He's all scowly; it's adorable. "He thinks he's funny but he's not."

"He's a _little_ funny," I say, enjoying the lightness of the moment after far too much heavy.

Edward rolls his eyes and traces his knuckles across my cheek. "I'm gonna go help Jas. You okay?"

I nod and take a deep breath. I still feel a little shaky, but I don't want him to worry. "I will be."

"Yes, you will."

"Can I clean this up now, please?"

He points to the living room. "Yes, but don't touch the glass." He kisses me on the nose and turns to go help Jasper in the workroom.

I shrug and move around the island in the kitchen, looking for the hand brush and dustpan. "I'm not gonna break, Edward."

He huffs and runs his fingers through his hair. "Can't you just let me take care of you?"

My stomach flutters and my throat tightens. The room is quiet for a few seconds before I realize what he's saying. I've been focusing so hard on being independent, on not relying on anyone and doing things for myself, that I've forgotten how to let someone help me for no other reason than that they simply want to.

"I'll try," I whisper.

His shoulders relax and he breathes a sigh of relief before he disappears into the workroom.

I walk into the living room, listening to Jasper and Edward discussing the best way to cover the opening in the door as I look around. My breath catches and I sigh. There's glass everywhere. It looks like someone swept their hand across the mantle and knocked down every picture they could. Those that didn't break in the fall appear to have been broken after the fact.

For me, it's a confirmation. Whoever did this was angry and obviously wanted me to know it. I get the message.

Careful of the glass, I move around to each pile and gather up the pictures. Some are torn and bent, others are perfectly fine. Edward's smiling ten year old face looks up at me from one. Next to him stands Charlie.

My father.

It's getting easier and easier to accept and to think of Charlie this way.

He's smiling, too.

"I need some of what you gave me right now," I whisper, tracing my finger across Charlie's face. "She didn't break you, she won't break me either. I promise."

**x-x-x**

"What are you doing?"

I jump and raise my eyes to the dining room window, noticing that the sun has set. The house is quiet; I strain my ears to hear Jasper, but he's either ridiculously quiet or gone already. I have no idea how long I've been sitting here.

"I don't know."

Edward looks around the room, gaze moving from the glass that hasn't been picked up to where I sit on the couch, a stack of pictures in my hands.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"I don't know," I say again, answering honestly.

He sighs and comes to sit next to me on the couch. "You're sure? You're positive this was her, Bella?"

Yes. "I don't know."

He brings his hands up to rub across his eyes tiredly. "Will you _please_ stop saying that?"

"I would if you asked me something that had a different answer."

Edward turns his head and looks at me, and then down at the picture in my hands. "My sixth grade spelling bee," he says, nodding toward the photo.

I bite my lip and look down at the picture, but I can't focus on on what he's said. I want him to know what I'm thinking. "She wants me to think she still has power over me," I whisper. "That's why she did this. She wants me to doubt."

"Doubt what?"

I don't want to hurt his feelings, but I think verbal confirmation of my earlier realization that I can trust him will make things better in the long run. "Myself… everything. You."

He pulls back and looks at my face. "And do you?"

I look down in shame. The hurt I don't want to see is there in his face. "I don't know."

"Damnit," he mutters. His voice is hard and edgy when he begins to speak louder. "If you can't be honest with me, this isn't gonna work."

I toss the pictures in my hands and cover my face. "Yes! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Yes. When I came in here and saw all of this, I started to doubt you. I started to doubt myself. I started to doubt everything. Because what if she's right? What if I'm being a fool?" By the time I finish, my voice is loud.

I can't look at him, but from the corner of my eye I watch as Edward tugs on his hair. He breathes out heavily through his lips in frustration. "What's it going to take for you to see that this is real? That _I'm _real?"

He lowers himself to the floor in front of me and sits on his knees, reaching up to cup my face in his palms and forces me to look at him. His eyes search mine, golden-green pools of nothing but feeling. My heart twists because I know I'm hurting him by being honest about my feelings, but I don't know any other way to be.

"This isn't just some game to me. I care about you. You're the first person I've cared about in a long time. Please don't make me regret it," he says, his voice pleading. He grabs one of my hands in his and holds my palm against his chest. His heart is beating double time. "Do you feel that? _That's_ what you do to me, Bella."

Grabbing his other hand from my cheek, I lower his palm to my chest so he can feel that my heart is beating rapidly too. He makes me feel the same.

I want nothing more than to believe him, and yet I can't stop myself from asking questions. How do you trust when everything you've ever trusted in before has turned out to be a lie?

"What else can I do?" he asks in a whisper. "What else can I do to make you understand?"

Hoping he'll understand that I want him to _show_ me, I push my mouth against his, kissing him soft at first and then harder. I need him to make me feel something other than doubt; to have all of him inside every part of me.

Edward wraps his arms around my back, sliding them lower until he grips my butt in his hands. My stomach flips as he stands up, holding me against him. My hands move to his shoulders, gripping the solid line of muscle there to keep from falling backwards. I wrap my legs around his waist and squeeze as he stumbles back.

Mouths connected, shared breath filling each other's lungs, we hold each other for a second, as close as can be with clothes in the way. The glass on the floor crunches beneath the soles of his shoes as carries me across the living room and into the hallway.

Maybe later I'll giggle at him for stumbling when we pass the bathroom, tease him that he's not quite the macho man he thinks he is, but right now isn't for laughter. The wall is hard against my back as he pushes me up against it and kisses me fervently. My heart is beating faster with every brush of his tongue against mine, every grip of his hands against my butt, every press of his body into me.

There's honesty in his kisses. They convey things that words wouldn't, feelings and things left unsaid that I want to believe in absolutely. I know it was silly to doubt him for even one second. I pour my belief in him back through my lips, kissing the earlier hurt I inflicted better.

Breathing hard, I break from his lips and slide my mouth to his throat. The vibration of his groan tickles my lips.

Edward bumps his shoulder on the doorframe as we tumble into my bedroom. He holds me tight with one hand while the other fumbles to the hem of my shirt and he begins pulling without hesitation.

There's no asking this time. Only taking.

I slide my mouth away from his neck long enough to rip the shirt over my head. Edward grabs it from my hands and tosses it on the floor, warm hands moving to the clasp on my bra to unhook it. The material slides loose on my shoulders as his mouth falls against my skin; his hands move lower, splayed against my back with his fingers wide. I can feel every fingertip pressing into my skin. His breath is hot and wet, like being outside on a humid day.

He kisses my shoulder and then moves lower. His tongue dances along the curve of my breast, dipping down until he teases the tip of my nipple below the lacy fabric still somewhat covering me.

Grasping the material of his shirt in my hands, I tug so I can get it off – so I can feel his skin against mine. His lips break away from my body with a gasp and he allows me to pull it up and over his head to join my shirt on the floor. Weirdly, I like the mess of our clothes on my floor. And then my bra is in his hands and joining the pile of scattered clothes, and we're moving backward toward the bed.

My stomach dips and my back hits the mattress in a flash. I shiver at the cool temperature of the comforter beneath me juxtaposed with the flame of Edward on top of me.

His mouth moves back to my breasts, lips wrapping around my nipple to suck softly before his teeth bite and tug. I moan. My hands dig into the comforter and I bite my lip as his fingers trail down my stomach to the button on my pants. I can feel the tremble in his fingers as he struggles with the button and then pulls down my zipper. Before I can blink, his fingers are inside my panties and he's pulling them down and over my hips until I'm completely naked beneath him.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I think that I should be bashful about this, but I'm not. The feelings coursing through my body are too overwhelming to be worried about anything but Edward and how much I want this with him.

The jeans slide to the floor with a soft swish and he doesn't touch me, but he doesn't pull his mouth away either. The telltale jingle of his belt buckle rings in my ears, his hands brushing across my stomach as he works to get it open.

I lift my hands to his shoulders and squeeze as he fumbles with his pants. He has to break away from me to rip them off. His shoes hit the wood floor with two heavy thuds and he hops on one foot, tugging the jeans away.

I stare at the sleek arch of his back and the muscles that flex with every move he makes. He's beautiful. The hair on his body – the slight patch below his belly button and the larger one on his chest – is darker than the hair on his head. My eyes linger on his stomach and the curve at the top of his hips, where it dips down. I see him, hard and ready. He's all lean flesh and subtle strength I want to feel all over me.

I lift my eyes and, when they reach his, I can see that he's doing the same. Taking me in. For the first time we're truly exposed in front of each other. His look is hungry in a way that tells me he doesn't want food.

He wants me.

My breath catches as he bends down and his hands settle on the bed next to me. His gaze slides from my hips, across my stomach and lingers on my breasts. I wiggle when he slides his hands beneath me and lifts my body, turning me until my head rests on my pillow.

He places me down softly and I stare up at him. His eyes are predatory, a lion stalking his prey as he crawls up the bed on his knees slowly. My legs fall open and his hips brush the inside of my thighs as he moves further up, until we're face to face.

I can tell he's keeping his lower half away from mine, but he's so close I can feel the heat of his skin. His eyes burn into mine. "Tell me you want me," he whispers.

His eyes stare into mine like he's lifting pieces of me away until he can see right into my soul. One of his hands glides down my side and his fingers wrap around my thigh. I gasp as he pulls my leg up high on his hip and wraps it around him. His hips dip lower, pushing closer until he's right there. One move from either of us and he'll be inside me.

"Please," he says, tightening his hand on my leg.

I take a deep breath and fight the flutter in my stomach. "I want you," I moan, lifting my hips to him.

His eyes fall closed and his brow furrows. I stare as he gives in and lowers himself against me. My entire body begins to tingle. He bites his lip and a small grunt escapes as he thrusts his hips against mine and begins to push himself inside me. I'm hyper-aware of every feeling as he slides deeper, loving that first few seconds where my body stretches, accommodates. It's not pleasure and it's not pain either, but it makes my toes curl and my breath stop.

Edward lowers the weight of his hips and then the rest of his body against me, moving his other hand down to my other leg and pulling it higher. We couldn't possibly be any closer.

For a few seconds, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. And then, slowly, he begins to pull back. His slow-yet-purposeful thrusts are frustrating but so, so good. Short but strong, like the mere thought of moving too far away is just too much for him to handle.

It's okay, though. I don't want him too far, either.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his lips to mine, kissing him with everything I have. He moans into my mouth and his hips move faster. Sweat begins to pool between our bodies from the friction and the heat and the movements get smoother. Slicker.

My stomach begins to coil tighter with every thrust. My hips rise faster and harder as his breaths begin to get choppy. I don't want it to end, but I can feel it coming. I can feel my body tightening and my fingernails sinking into the skin of his back.

His eyes open to see him watching me climb higher and higher.

"Do you believe me now?" he asks, every word punctuated with the pressure of his body sliding against mine.

"Yes," I say, the word drawing out as everything snaps and white flashes behind my eyes. Goosebumps rise on every part of my body and his grip on my legs gets tighter.

The hum of slapping skin and heavy breaths fill the room, his grunts mixing with my moans a bass line backbeat. Dropping all of his weight onto me, his hands move from my legs to my cheeks. He holds my face in his hands, eyes settling on mine. I can't see, smell, feel or hear anything but him and it's the most amazingly intense feeling I've ever had with another person. The most cared for I've ever felt in all my life.

When he presses his forehead against mine and breathes against my mouth that he's coming, I know that I'll never doubt him again. This is the real thing.

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**Thank you for reading, for the positive words and for making me smile. I seriously heart you guys more than you know. With what happened in the world today, I hope all of you – and those you love – are safe and happy tonight.**

**xx **


	19. Chapter 19

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you. Nic, I love you and without the care you put into every word I send you, this story wouldn't be the same._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

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The morning sun is bright when I wake the next morning, warm where it touches my cheeks, my shoulders. It's not as warm as the body wrapped around mine. I grin to myself and snuggle into Edward. Even though it's beginning to feel familiar waking up next to him, I know deep down that things have changed between us since the last time we woke together – was it really only yesterday?

There's no going back from what we did – I wouldn't want to if we could.

The pain, confusion and doubt of yesterday feel like nothing but distant memories after last night, leaving room for only the best parts. These flashes of delicious moments don't feel distant at all... they're still here, lingering. It's the best thing in the world.

I didn't know it was possible to feel this way, to _be _this close to someone. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, too. While I'm scared to death about what will come next with my mother, I have no fears about what this is with him anymore. He made sure of that.

Deep down I know Edward will be here for me when things get rough and her influences begin to worm their way into my confidence. With him at my side, I know I can do it.

What's even more amazing is that, last night, for the first time in my life I'd started to see that even without him, I'm still strong. Nothing she does can change that. I didn't let her maliciousness overwhelm me for too long, and I was stronger for it. Shaking my head, I push thoughts of my mother to the side. I refuse to let her negativity bring me down this morning, or ever again.

There's a gorgeous guy next me in _my_ house, in _my _bed, wrapped in _my _sheets. I can do this.

I reach behind me and grip his arm, giving it a tiny shake. He rouses slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before he snuggles back into me.

"Five more minutes," he mumbles, all grumbly and adorable again.

I laugh and turn to face him. "We have to work," I say, running my fingers through his sleep-messy hair.

His only response is to tighten his face and stick out his plump lower lip, offering me a tempting pout I can't help but kiss.

His eyes pop open and a slow smile creeps across his face. "I'm awake now."

I roll my eyes and laugh again, enjoying the sanctuary we have here. Together. "Maybe if you get up you'll get another one."

"But it'll be more fun if we stay down," he says, grinning even bigger.

"Oh dear, I've created a monster."

I don't want to, but I turn and detach myself from his arms. Like he knows I'm regretting leaving the warmth of his body and the bed already, he grabs at me and tries to pull me back. I jump away quickly, snatching his t-shirt from the floor and sliding it over my head.

The mess from the mantle is still on the floor as I head into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I navigate around the broken glass and feel proud that the urge to clean it right now is locked down tight.

Back in my room, I stand in the doorway and watch as Edward yawns, rubbing his eyes again. He's so attractive this morning, all sleep-warm and rumpled and lounging in my bed. I watch him quietly until he turns in my direction.

He puts his hands behind his head and stares back at me with a pensive look on his face. "Was last night..."

Heat shoots through me at the reminder, leaving a tingle in all the right spots.

I walk over to sit next to him on the bed. "Was it what?" I ask.

He slides his arm around me and props his head up on his elbow. "I didn't intend for that to happen… _initially_. I don't... I wanted us to take things slow."

My heart squeezes and I frown. "Are you saying you regret it?"

"Not a chance." He squeezes my hip.

"Then what are you asking?"

He looks down and sighs. "Do _you_ regret it?"

I lift my hand to his face, cupping his cheek in my palm until he looks me in the eyes. "Not a chance."

**x-x-x**

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Eventually Edward drags himself out of bed, completely unabashed about walking around naked in front of me in the daylight hours. I can see things I couldn't last night and it makes it really hard not to pounce on him. Especially when he bends over to pull his boxer briefs up his legs and gives me a glimpse of the strong muscles in places usually hidden by his clothes.

We decide to skip out on our usual breakfast at the Haven in favor of cereal in my kitchen (in our underwear).

Edward stands at my side, arm brushing mine every time he lifts the spoon to his mouth. I scoot closer, enjoying the simple touch. It feels like we've been doing this forever. It's physically impossible to resist smiling at him when his eyes meet mine from above the lip of his bowl, which he's drinking from like a little kid.

He puts his bowl in the sink and turns around to face me, reaching up to tuck some hair behind my ear. "I have to go home and change before my shift."

I nod and finish chewing. "I figured." I grin wickedly, letting my eyes trace from the tops of his toes to his still bare-shoulders. "You going out like that, Officer Masen? Isn't running around half-naked against the law?"

He ignores my teasing, crossing his arms over his chest and staring through the kitchen at the back door instead. "I really don't want to leave you alone here."

It's not hard to guess at what he's thinking. He's worried I'm wrong, that this wasn't my mother... that whoever it was could come back. His doubt in my assessment concerns me slightly – it's his job to understand criminals, but he also doesn't know my mother like I do. Still, anxiety forms a hard knot in my stomach at the brief thought I may be wrong.

I wrap my arms around him. "I'll be okay," I assure him, and myself a little bit, too. "They'll question her today, right?"

His arms slide around my shoulders. "Yeah."

"Then we'll know for sure and we can both stop worrying."

He kisses my forehead. "I'll call you as soon as I hear anything."

"Okay."

**x-x-x**

I walk into the store and catch Alice singing, which isn't a rare occurrence. I laugh and shake my head as I move past her into the backroom to put my bag down.

"You're smiling awful big for someone who had their house broken into," she calls after me.

I grin. In the past, Alice and I have pretty much steered clear of my friendship with Edward. She was his friend first, so she has ties to him; secrets and loyalties that she and I can't talk about together. It'd be like Rose telling Edward my history – not cool at all.

Now that we've become a little closer – even become friends – I know she now has loyalties to me as well. But still, there's a line she's always refused to cross when it comes to him. It makes me a little uneasy, and I'm not sure how much I should tell her about mine and Edward's new status.

Grabbing my phone, I shove it in my pocket and walk back out front. Thinking about Rose has made me miss girl talk, something I know Alice excels at. She eyes me when I come back up front and I shrug, deciding to be honest. She'll find out soon enough, anyway.

"It's a little hard not to smile today."

She grins and winks. "I _told_ you he'd come around," she says. "So what happens now?"

"I don't know, they're supposed to go see my mom today."

"I didn't mean with your mom, Bella." She laughs. "Though I suppose we should talk about that, too. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. It's just... god, this situation is so messed up. I just want to move on and I can't do that if she won't give up."

"You really think it was her?"

"Who else _is_ there?" I muse, staring off into space.

Alice looks at me like she has something to say, but she doesn't. She scrunches her nose at me and I don't recognize the look she gives me.

"True," she replies finally.

We settle in to work as customers start wandering into the store; by the time my phone rings, it's late afternoon.

I excuse myself from the customer I'm speaking to and step outside to answer. "Hello?"

"It's me," Edward says.

I close my eyes and smile. "I know that."

He laughs but it's too serious for me to enjoy. He's quiet for a minute, just breathing, and then he says, "They found her. She's been staying at the Red Lion here in town." His voice sounds rough, like he's angry. "She's uh… not being very cooperative."

I sigh and my hand tightens on the phone. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"She slammed the door in Paul's face. Told him to come back with evidence or a warrant, because she wasn't answering any of their questions."

My fist curls in anger and I punch the window in frustration. "Damn her," I growl.

The last thing I want is to have to face her again, but I know it's what needs to happen for this to be finished. She's not going to back down without a fight. I should have expected it.

"We'll figure it out, Babe," Edward says soothingly.

I smile at the endearment and some of the tension leaks from my body. "I know, it's just... I don't understand why she won't just let _go_."

"I'm here for you, no matter what."

I look up at the sky. "Thank you," I whisper, and I know I'm not just saying it to Edward.

"I'll see you tonight?" he asks, voice full of hope.

"Definitely."

Edward says goodbye and disconnects. I take a few minutes to myself, trying to breathe away the anger before I attempt to return to my customers.

Sadly, it doesn't really work. In spite of putting on the best face I can as the day continues to pass, I'm too angry with her. Too hurt.

Twice Alice has to take over and send me to the back of the store to cool off. She seems to understand, which is good, otherwise I'd probably be looking for another job by the end of the day. Before I leave, she hugs me tight and promises to be there for me if I need anything.

When I pull up in front of my house, I find Edward sitting on the back steps and grin to myself. I hurry to park and jump out of the truck as the frustration I've been holding in all day releases, just from his presence alone. The weight on my shoulders seems to lighten with each step I take.

The top button of his uniform is popped open, revealing a slice of his chest and the white undershirt beneath. His cheeks and chin show a faint speckle of scruff – a sign that he was running behind this morning.

"Why are you sitting outside?" I ask, stepping in front of him.

"Just got here a few minutes ago." He leans forward and wraps his arms around my hips to pull me close. He nuzzles his face into the soft material of my sweatshirt and blows out a breath, warming my skin through the fabric. "I brought dinner."

I look down and see the bag sitting next to him. I'm in no rush to eat, content enough to stay here with him holding me. I run my fingers through his hair and he hums quietly. This is definitely nice, something I could get used to. Coming home from work to Edward and dinner, watching TV while we laze about on the couch after a long day, or sitting on the porch in the summer with a beer and my feet in his lap... My stomach growls beneath his cheek and he chuckles, pulling back to look up at me.

"I guess I'm hungry," I say.

"Let's get you fed."

Edward opens the back door for me, waiting until I step inside before he follows. I notice his eyes darting around the room, checking to make sure we're safe, I assume. We set up in the living room with the containers of Chinese food and forks.

While he grabs a drink from the fridge, I slip off my shoes and sweatshirt. Edward comes into the room and removes his belt and gun, placing them on the table. He toes off his shoes and settles on the couch, turning sideways with his legs stretched out in front of him.

I sit down at the other end of and mimic his position. He passes me a container of fried rice and leans back to dig into his own meal.

His socked feet tangle with mine. "This okay?" he asks around a bite.

I nod. "Absolutely."

We chat lightly between bites, discussing our day with one another. Avoiding the elephant we both know is technically in the room with us.

My mom.

When I finish, I head into the kitchen to throw away everything and then do the same for Edward.

I come back to the couch and he pats the space between his legs, asking me to come and sit by him. I do, drawing one leg up and resting my chin on it, yet mostly facing him. He curls his leg around my back and rests his head on the back of the couch.

I look down. "I have to go talk to her."

He glances at me and sighs. "I had a feeling you'd say that. I'm coming with you—"

"No," I cut him off, shaking my head and hoping he'll understand. "I need to do this on my own. She's not going to stop if she thinks I can't. Not that I don't love you—" I stumble and look up quickly to see if he heard my slip. His eyes sear into mine, full of questions. Hope. I rush to continue, "Your help, I mean. Not that I don't appreciate it, but I have to do this without you."

Edward looks away and his face twists. My heart does, too. What I said is ringing in my ears. I don't know how to read the look on his face. Does he want me to mean it? _Do_ I?

I know I appreciate him, that I respect him. I know the way he makes me feel is new and exciting and so, so different from anything I've ever felt before. I know that if it isn't love yet, it could very well turn into it. But we're still new and forming this...whatever it is we're working on.

_Does he feel the same?  
_  
"Look at me... please?" I put my hand on his cheek and scratch lightly across his stubble, hoping his eyes will give me answers I'm searching for.

He clears his throat and turns to me, still looking hurt. "I understand," he says quietly. And I have to wonder if he understands that I'm not sure yet if I love him. If he's telling me it's okay – that if I'm not ready, he'll wait for me. Or if it's just that he understands the position I'm in with my mother.

"When will you go see her?" he asks, changing the subject.

His question reminds me that I hadn't thought that far ahead. "You tell me," I say. I'm not sure when I should see her, or if I need to stay away because of what happened yesterday.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. "I think you should at least give it a few days. Let her cool off a bit."

I nod and turn my head into the crook of his neck, inhaling his comforting smell. I kiss his skin and close my eyes. "Okay."

**x-x-x**

For the third morning in a row, I wake up with Edward wrapped all around me. I don't remember coming in here. I guess I fell asleep in his arms last night, the weariness and heavy feelings of the day taking their toll. The last thing I remember is him whispering words into my hair.

He breathes softly behind me, arms draped around my torso protectively, the bare skin of his chest warming my back through my thin shirt. . Each breath that falls from his lips blows the messy tendrils of my hair forward and tickles my face. I wrinkle my nose, holding in a giggle and squirming.

I don't want to move for anything in the world; I'd be content to stay like this forever.

Closing my eyes, I breathe out a contented sigh and snuggle further into him. Edward's fingers begin to move beneath my shirt, trailing across my stomach.

Strong fingers trace a slow up and down pattern beneath my belly button, which I think is merely an unconscious act until he says, "Did you finally wake up, Sleepyhead?"

I startle, twisting my head to look at him. I catch sight of the sheepish grin on his face before his mouth lowers to my back. The scruff of yesterday is even more prominent and it scratches my skin.

"You're awake," I say.

"I've been waiting," he whispers. The words melt into my skin, like secrets meant for nobody else. "I hope it's okay I stayed."

I smile as tingles shoot up my spine and fight the shiver building from the outside in. Of course it's okay. I think I would have been disappointed if I'd woken up and he wasn't here. I don't know how I'll cope the next time I wake up alone.

"I'm not complaining," I say, reaching behind me to run my fingers through his hair. His lips feel so good.

"Good."

"What time is it?" I ask blearily, blinking to clear my sleep-fogged eyes.

"A little after six," he says, removing one of his hands from my stomach to tug on the neck of my shirt, exposing more of my skin to the cold air that isn't him. His tongue peeks out and curves around the blade in my shoulder. "Did you want to come to breakfast with me this morning?"

I'm too distracted by his mouth to answer or even form a coherent sentence. My eyes roll back in my head and I _try_ to tell him no, that it's not food he's making me hungry for, but what comes out is more like a small moan.

"What was that?" There's far too much mischief in his voice right now – I'd rather he stop with the teasing and get down to something even better.

"No…"

"No?" He hums into my skin. "What… exactly… did you want … to do … then?" Every few words are punctuated by a playful kiss to my shoulder as his other hand starts to travel around beneath my shirt.

"I don't know," I answer shakily. My hips roll of their own volition, pushing against him, searching for some kind of friction.

He pushes back, his hips shifting slowly to give me a clue as to what he wants. His lips move to my ear and he whispers, "I do."

The butterflies in my stomach flutter and flip. "Yeah?" I ask breathily.

"Yeah," he answers, his voice gritty and full of wanting. His hands trail up my body, bringing the material of my shirt with them. He leans in close and sucks on the skin beneath my ear. "Yeah…"

My breath quickens and I squeeze my eyes closed. I turn my head to the side and search out his mouth. And then his lips are right there, kissing mine as our bodies move in a gentle sway, like the tide rolling in on the beach.

One of his hands slides down my body, fingers slipping into my underwear. My heart pounds.

"Can I..."

I kiss him harder, showing him with a silent acquiescence that if he wants to touch me, he can. My hand flies to his hip, fingers twisting into the fabric of his boxers as his fingers move lower. He touches me softly at first, and then harder. Up, down, in until all that exists in the world is him and I.

He pulls his hand away and grabs one of mine, sliding it down behind my back until my fingers are pressing against the hard length of him. I squeeze, wanting to make him feel good, too, and he moans into my mouth and starts to thrust himself into my palm.

His hand fumbles with the waistband on my underwear, tugging. I lift my hips to help and he slides them down my legs as far as he can without having to break our kiss. I kick my legs back and forth, using my feet to remove them completely.

"I need you," I say, pulling him through the opening in his boxers. He's hot and soft but hard at the same time. He breathes heavily into my mouth and his tongue starts to go wild.

He struggles with the elastic on his boxers, wiggling the same as I've just done so he can pull them down as quickly as possible. He grunts and kicks his leg out before rolling his weight on top of me from behind.

Our lips stay together until our movement forces us apart. The bed squeaks as he settles on top of me. Everything inside feels like jello. With great effort, I lift my arms to prop myself on my elbows and curl my fingers around the edge of my pillow.

My body sags with pleasure as his weight falls against me. I love the feeling of his body against mine – I'm quickly becoming used to this desire to have him closer, nearer, all the time. We both feel it at the same time, him – hard and slick – sliding between my legs. He gasps and his mouth falls to my shoulder.

"Fuck."

The word falls into the air around us and it makes me shiver with anticipation.

He grips my hips and pulls me up so his fingers can slip into the tight space beneath us. He doesn't hesitate or waste time with gentle strokes this time when he touches me.

My breaths come faster and I grind myself into his hand, begging for more. I've never felt this kind of desire for another person before. Never felt as wrapped up and warm and safe as I do with his body curled over mine and his arms circled around me.

From behind closed eyes, I can imagine how he looks, how I'd draw him. The sketch would be intimate, drawn with a lover's hand; morning sunshine adding light to certain details, like the way the vein in his forehead stands out and his jaw flexes when he's concentrating. The scruff on his cheeks and how it shines in that perfect light. I groan and turn my head to the side, hoping for a glimpse of his face. He looks just like he did when he was in work mode: all business, intense and passionate.

I watch as his back arches and he slides his hands lower until they're wrapped around the insides of my thighs. His jaw flexes as his teeth poke out to tug at his lower lip. My heart jumps. The pressure of every single digit as he pulls me apart – opens me up – only makes it pound faster and faster.

He stares down at my body, at the curve in my back and the dip above my ass, hands following his gaze in a path down the middle of my back and then lower.

When his visual path brings his eyes back up to my face, there's a fire in them. Something about that look, private and full of an intense longing, sets me off. Like we planned it, my body lifts as his surges forward and we become one person. No end and no beginning.

He slides his arms beneath mine, locking one across my chest. The fingers of his other hand tangle with mine and he presses his teeth into my shoulder. With each push of his hips, his hold gets tighter and his breathing gets stronger.

I'm stunned by how good he can make me feel, how easy it is to get wrapped up in what he gives to me. Be it this explosion of feeling or a quiet strength when my world has gone insane, he knows what I want and need. I only hope that I give even a fraction of that back to him, that I mean as much to him as he does to me.

I watch his face twist and turn with pleasure, satisfied with nothing more than seeing my bliss reflected in his features. There's no doubt in my mind about the questions I had earlier. I _do _love him and I'm not sure how I ever existed without this.

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**Thank you for reading, reviewing, tweeting... **_**everything**_**. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know.**

**xx**


	20. Chapter 20

_Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

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After a hot shower and a long kiss goodbye, Edward heads home to change for his shift. As much as I hate seeing him leave, this jittery-nervous feeling inside my belly is making it hard to be near him.

I don't understand why it scares me so much to _know _that I love him. Of course, there's the fact that I've never felt like this for someone before. Not to mention that I've never told anyone I loved them, other than my parents or Rose... okay, and maybe even Emmett a few times when we were drinking.

But this is just…_different_. I really have no idea what happens next. Or if anything's _supposed_ to happen.

Do I wait for him to say it first? Do I just tell him? Is there etiquette to follow on this kind of thing?

Maybe I should go to the bookstore.

Locking up the house, I shake my head and laugh at myself as I jog down the stairs to my truck. These odd compulsive tendencies slip into my mind at the strangest times. At one point in my life, I never really asked these kinds of questions. They were answered for me before I had the chance.

It's like now that I feel free to ask, the questions don't stop.

I know, to a certain extent, that this part of me isn't necessarily my mother's doing. There are pieces of me that are just, well… _me_; ingrained into my DNA just as much as the brown hair on my head. This is one of them.

I decide to stop off at the coffee shop to grab fresh lattes and pastries for Alice and myself on the way into the shop. The last thing I need is caffeine (because I'm already feeling jittery enough), but the distraction is nice.

I need comfort wherever I can get it, because I know this budding relationship between Edward and I is just a small piece of the puzzle that's become my life. And as much as I hate to admit it, there are bigger pieces that need to be put together first.

I don't mind going with the flow for the time being. I know he's here with me, that he isn't going anywhere. When this mess between my mother and I is over, I can concentrate fully on moving forward; with him.

First, I need to figure out what to do, and what I'm going to say when I see my mother. He wants me to wait a few days, and even though I want it to end now, I know he's right. I need to be smart about this and approach her when she isn't slamming doors in people's faces.

So, I have to be content with things not being quite perfect... yet. But I have hope that they will be, and that's worth waiting for.

Outside the shop, I find the perfect spot behind Alice's car: near the front, but not too far up that she'll be able to say anything about needing to move the truck. Typically Alice doesn't like us to park in front of the store. She wants the prime spaces left open for customers, but on nights when one of us is alone to close, she makes an exception.

Grabbing my purse and the goodies, I hop out of the truck and head inside. As soon as Alice sees me, her nose starts twitching like Samantha from Bewitched.

Her eyes gleam as she bounces up on the balls of her feet. "Whatcha got there?"

I laugh. "Breakfast."

She dashes toward me and grabs the bag from my hands, opening it and sticking her entire face inside. Her little hands make quick work of the pastry and soon she's mumbling her thanks around a mouthful of flaky goodness.

"OhmygawshIruvroo."

I shake my head and giggle. "You're welcome."

We both dig into the food, greedily munching on everything I brought. After we finish, Alice sips the last of her latte and reminds me, "I'm headed to Seattle this afternoon. You'll be okay here on your own?"

I nod. "Yeah. I'll be okay. You'll have your cell, right? I can just call if there are any problems."

"I will. Just make sure you drop the deposit by the bank tonight and lock up the front and back doors once you turn off the sign. Edward would kick my ass if he thought you were in danger in my store."

I roll my eyes, smiling internally at his protectiveness. "He's like that."

"He cares for you," she says, moving to the front of the store to straighten some dresses on a rack.

I take the opportunity to engage in some girl talk; something I've been missing out on with Rose being so far away from me and our recent contact being so limited. We've spoken every few days lately, but she's busy with Em and I'm busy with more things than I can possibly handle.

The time for phone calls to chit-chat seems wasted, but today... I'm craving it. And Alice is offering.

"I care for him too... A lot," I say.

Alice grins at me over her shoulder. "So come on, dish with me then!"

"What do you want to know?" I ask shyly.

"Is it serious?" she calls out.

I close my eyes and think of the intensity of this morning, of what it felt like to have him on top of me and inside me. My breath catches and a smile lights my face.

"You don't have to answer that," Alice says, much closer now. "Your face tells me everything I need to know."

I blush and look down at the floor. "I... I'm pretty sure I love him."

"Don't tell him I told you this," she whispers conspiratorially. "But I think he might feel the same about you."

My heart warms, not just from what she's revealed but from the fact that she let something like that out.

"Thanks, Alice."

She smiles at me like she understands and comes over to give me a hug.

While she tends to some back office stuff, I stay out front and help out the few customers that trickle in. Before I know it, she's heading out the door and I'm all alone. The afternoon passes slowly without her presence, but I'm a little thankful for the time to think. There's so much going on in my head, I feel like it could take years to sort it all out.

Just as Alice reminded me earlier in the day, I make sure to lock the back door before I turn off the open sign. I walk to the front of the store and flip the lock on the glass doors, peering out into the evening. There are only a few lights shining and even fewer cars. The streets are empty and quiet so much earlier here than back in California.

Before I turn to finish up, my eyes catch on a flash of gold as a car goes speeding past the windows. I shake my head and laugh to myself. _Where are all the cops in this town?_

This, of course, makes me think about Edward. I smile and wonder what he's up to, how his day has gone. If he's thought about me as much as I have about him...

After totaling the deposit, I gather my things, taking care to stuff the bank bag deep into my purse. I twist the lock and push open the door to peer outside and make sure everything is still calm.

I step outside, inhaling the cool night air before turning back to lock the door. I tug on it once, twice and then a third time to make sure it's locked. With my keys in hand, I start to walk toward my truck. It takes a second for me to realize that something isn't right.

My steps slow and I hold my breath, squinting in the darkness to see. "What the hell?" I question to nobody as my heart starts racing. Instinct kicks in and I freeze as warning bells start going off in my head. I look to the left and then the right, checking to see if there's anybody behind me or anywhere around.

There isn't... but it's clear, they _were_.

With blood pumping loudly in my ears, I scurry back to the store, struggling to get the door open. Once I'm tucked safely inside I cup my hands against the glass, peering in the direction of my truck to look closer.

All four of my tires are flat.

If it'd been one, sure... coincidence. But all four? No way.

I drop my keys on the floor, instantly beginning to dig in my purse for my phone. My hands are shaking as I search my contacts for Edward's name. I press the button and push the phone to my ear. After three rings, I get his voicemail. I dial again and get the same.

My heartbeat picks up and sweat rolls down my forehead. _Where _is_ he?_

My head starts to spin, making me feel dizzy. The phone in my hands falls to the ground, bouncing across the tile. I sink to the floor and clutch my head in my hands, trying to make the room stop spinning.

I suck in a deep breath and force myself to calm down, to think. I need help – and I can't get that if I'm falling to pieces. I crawl toward the phone, search my contacts again and try Alice instead, hoping she'll answer.

She picks up on the first ring. "Hello, Sunshine."

"Alice," I choke out.

"What's wrong?" Her voice is instantly frantic.

"I don't know... I think someone messed with my truck outside the store."

She gasps. "Where's Edward?"

"He's not answering his phone."

"I'm calling Jasper right now. Stay inside the store, keep the doors locked until he comes, okay?"

She hangs up without waiting for an answer and I lower my head to my knees, trying to take more deep breaths to calm myself down. I hope Jasper gets here soon, that he sends out a message on his radio where Edward will hear it wherever he is.

I need him.

Meanwhile, my brain instantly starts cataloging. When it was just a break in at my house, I was sure it had to be my mom. But would she have done this? Would she have gone this far? I'm not sure if I want to know the answer...

It takes several minutes before I hear sirens in the distance. I twist around, turning my gaze to the door so I can see which officer has responded. One patrol car pulls up out front, sending flashes of blue and red dancing through the autumn colored walls of the store. I stay where I am, waiting for whoever it is to come to the door and identify themselves. I don't trust anyone right now.

"Bella?" Jasper knocks on the glass and yells. "Are you okay in there?"

"Yes," I yell back. I start to stand on shaky legs, fear lessening some. "I'm alright."

"Come and open the door, honey."

I rise fully and brush off my butt and hands, walking slowly toward the front. I flip the lock and Jasper pulls open the door. In a move that's completely unnatural for the way he's treated me in the past, he wraps his arms around me.

I sink into him, feeling comfort floating from his skin. My eyes fill with tears.

He pulls back and looks down at me. "What happened?"

"Someone messed with my truck," I tell him, pointing a shaky hand in the direction of the street.

Jasper turns his head to look and separates himself from me. He squeezes my hand. "Stay inside. I'm going to check it out."

Jasper gives me one last look as he pulls the radio from his lapel and stars murmuring numbers off to the dispatcher on the other end. He walks outside and I move closer to the window, staring out as he crouches in front of each of the tires and inspects them.

My phone rings from where I left it on the floor. Expecting Edward, I skid toward it and answer quickly. "Hello?"

_"Baby Girl?"  
_  
My stomach jumps into my throat and my eyes widen. I pull the phone away for a second and stare at it in wonder before pressing it back to my ear. "Dad?" I whisper.

The word tastes sour on my tongue, a betrayal that makes my heart hurt. Not just for myself, but for Charlie as well. It's what I've called Phil my entire life.

Though I know the truth now, he's still the man who raised me. The man I looked up to and who treated me like his little princess. It shouldn't bother me to call him dad, but it does.

In all the mess of the previous weeks, I had avoided calling him because I wasn't sure what to say. My relationship with him was easier than the one with my mother, and I didn't know if I could handle knowing whether or not what my mother revealed was true – that he'd known all along and helped her keep me from Charlie.

My knees are shaking so bad that I sit back on the floor.

_"Isabella, are you there?"_ Without waiting for me to reply, he continues, _"Your mother,"_ he says, sounding desperate. _"I can't get a hold of her… she said you were with her. She stopped calling. Please tell me she's okay…"_

Shock rolls through me and my mouth falls open in surprise. She said what?

_"Isabella?"_ he prompts again, sounding more desperate.

"I'm here," I say, my voice sounding robotic even to my own ears. "But I'm not with her." I neglect to include the fact that at the present time, I don't particularly care if she's okay or not.

_"What do you mean you're not with her? She said she was in Washington for a death in the family."_

I can't help but laugh. It's an awful sound, mean and bitter; just like hers. I shouldn't be surprised... It's obvious now, she's manipulated him the same way she manipulated me. The same way I never questioned her, he doesn't either.

_"She said you've been a big help, that she didn't need me to come because you were there with her."_ By the end, his voice sounds desperate again, like a lost puppy.

I have no idea what to say. I don't want to be the one to break his heart and tell him that none of that is true. Instead I ask, "Did she tell you who died?"

My eyes flick outside briefly. There's another cruiser here now, and Jasper and Embry are standing on the curb speaking.

_"Some long lost uncle or something," _Phil says.

My stomach rolls and I lower myself to the floor once more. "Long lost uncle? Of course she would tell you that," I mumble, almost to myself. And I know that no matter how much I don't want to be the one responsible for this, I won't lie to him.

Being lied to sucks – I'm starting to think it's one of the worst things to do to someone else.

"Da— Phi—" I start, unsure what to call him now, "It wasn't an uncle..."

_"What's going on, Isabella?"_ he asks, panic making his tone sharp now.

I breathe out a sigh. "It was my father."

Phil takes in a sharp breath and then blows it back out heavily. It crackles the speaker of my phone. _"That's impossible. She didn't— Oh god, I think I feel sick."_

Tears burn in my eyes. I know I'm hurting him, but he doesn't seem to doubt what I've revealed. He knows it's true.

_"That's impossible," _he whispers angrily. Something in the background crashes as his breathing grows heavier. _"She told me she didn't know who…"_

"And you went along with it," I finish for him. I understand his position; I was in it once, too. I know what it's like to be where he is, where you feel like you don't need to question anything and just let life bounce on by like nothing can go wrong.

_"She said we would tell you someday..." _he says, sounding remorseful.

I close my eyes and listen to his heavy breaths. Before I can think of what to say, the front door of the shop flies open and Edward rushes inside, calling my name. "Bella!"

His boots pound out each hard step as he moves closer. Quickly, I scramble to my feet and move toward him, completely forgetting about the phone in my hand as he crashes into me. Edward wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest, burying his face in my hair.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "I heard the call on the radio. My phone was in my locker." I feel his fists tighten on my back and I know he's punishing himself for not answering my call, for not being here sooner.

I reach up to touch his cheek, wanting to offer him some kind of comfort. The phone is still in my hand. I stare at it and then put the phone to my ear as Edward gives me a questioning look.

"Dad? I'm sorry but there's a lot going on right now…"

At the mention of the word Dad, Edward's eyes widen and his face shifts to one of apology. He mouths 'I'll be outside' and squeezes my hand before turning away.

I watch him go, only half listening when my father asks, _"Who was that?"_

My eyes are still on Edward as he walks outside and begins speaking to Jasper. I turn my back on him and tell Phil the truth. "My boyfriend."

_"Isabella, I'm so confused right now."_

"I know you are," I tell him. "I just don't know how to explain everything that's happening."

Shouting from outside draws my attention to the window. Jasper and Edward are in each other's faces and Jasper's hand is on his gun. My heart jumps into my throat and I rush toward the door.

"Dad! I have to go. I'll, uh... try to get her to call you when I see her."

I hang up before he can say anything else and slide to a stop. Jasper's voice rises to a new level. "She doesn't know, does she?"

"Stay _out _of it, Jasper. This has nothing to do with you!" Edward shouts.

I open my mouth to interrupt before it gets out of hand, but then I realize the 'she' they're talking about is _me_.

Jasper sticks his finger in Edward's chest. "Of course it does!" he returns as his outstretched hand curls into a fist.

"It doesn't. I'm not asking you – I'm telling you to stay out of it. Let me handle this on my own." Edward's hands are in fists, too.

"She's not just your concern anymore, Edward; other people care about her too! You _know_ her mother didn't do this."

"No, I don't _know_ that."

"Come on Bro, you're not this dense," Jasper says loudly. "You just don't want to accept it."

"You don't think I haven't thought about it? That it hasn't been burning on the end of my tongue every time I see her? Because it has. But how the fuck am I supposed to tell the girl I love that I'm responsible for her father's death?"

The phone in my hand crashes against the cement. With a sound of breaking glass, it shatters into pieces. My heart feels like it's doing the same. The noise gets the boys' attention and Edward and Jasper both turn to look in my direction.

Edward's face falls when he sees me standing there. He turns to Jasper with a harsh look before turning back to me. His face softens and he reaches his hand out toward me. "Bella?"

I want to go to him, to bury myself in his arms and pretend I didn't just hear everything they said. I want to revel in the fact that Edward just admitted – out loud – that he loves me, too. But I can't do that.

I trusted him and he lied to me, too.

I take a step away back toward the store, shaking my head from side to side. There's no volume to my voice when I start to speak. "What's he talking about, Edward?"

Edward steps in my direction again and I put my hands out to stop him. I'm not sure that I want him near me. I'm not even sure I want him to answer the question. I'm not sure of anything anymore.

I turn away, ignoring the yelling of my name as I begin to run. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What a fool I've been. Of all the questions I've been thinking and asking, I hadn't taken the time to stop and ask the biggest one of all…

_What really happened to Charlie?_

_

* * *

_**I know... Just, trust me, okay?**_  
_

_I am epic fail at review replies – I was doing so well, but life has been crazy and now that I don't have these chapters pre-written, I spend much more time focused on that than much else. I do read and cherish each and every word you all leave for me and without your positive feedback, I wouldn't have the same motivation to do this. Thank you for reading._

**Leave some love (and snuggles for Copward).**

**xx**


	21. Chapter 21

_Technically it's still Friday... Sorta.  
_

Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

* * *

My lungs are burning, coiling tighter with every inch of space I put between myself and the store. Each pound of my feet against the pavement sends a shock of pain through my body. I don't know exactly whom, or what I'm running _from_. Hell, I don't even know why I'm running.

The sensible part of my brain is telling me to stop and turn right back around, that avoiding is the wrong answer. I _know _I'm stronger than this. Since my arrival in Washington, I've learned how to overcome the weak part of me that disappears at any sign of trouble. But my instincts are pushing me toward the easier choice.

My sides begin to ache, muscles pinching and squeezing from the exertion. The foolishness I felt all those weeks ago, when I came here and found out I'd been lied to, is churning inside me. Only this time, the weight of it seems stronger.

It's not my mom who's hurt me this time – it's Edward. The one person I thought I could trust... just the idea that I was wrong about him is something I'm not sure I can handle. I love him and I'm sick and tired of being betrayed by the people I love.

My feet slow as I round the corner and the sound of Edward, who's still in front of the store calling my name, grows softer. I pause and debate turning around to go back, to demand that he tell me exactly what's going on.

I look behind me and then face forward again. I can't do it.

Adrenaline courses through me and pushes me to start running again, faster this time. Though it's tangible, the string that connects me to Edward feels like it's stretching to the breaking point. Like it's going to snap at any second.

Along with my heart.

The roar of an engine echoes through the narrow street behind me when I'm halfway down the next block. I think about that flash of gold speeding away from the store before I attempted to leave work earlier.

If my mother wasn't the one who broke into my house and messed with my truck, that means someone else could be after me. Someone else could want to hurt me. Tires squeal, brakes screech and then a door slams. Footsteps sound out and fear spikes in every part of my body. My heart pounds faster, a disjointed rhythm that isn't only from running, and I force myself to move away.

I'm scared. Scared it's not who I expect it will be… and even more frightened that it is.

Before I can get far, hands wrap around my shoulders and pull me to a stop, holding me in place. Unfamiliar arms restrain me and my survival instincts kick in. A scream breaks from my lips and I struggle against the stranger's grip, trying to break free.

In a complete fit of desperation, I bury my nails in the skin I can reach and try to pump my legs to maneuver myself away. The person holding me grunts and I cry out in frustration – it's a male sound, but not at all familiar.

His hold is too strong. I want to fight, but I'm afraid I have no fight left.

"Stop." A voice says into my ear and my heart feels like it might jump out of my chest. "Bella, stop."

It takes a moment for me to discern that the voice that's said my name is recognizable. It's _not_ a stranger, but it's also not Edward. I'm filled with simultaneous dread and relief because _he_isn't the one who came after me.

Jasper has, though.

Above everything, the idea that Edward might not _want _to come after me threatens to break me apart.

My body goes limp in his arms as I struggle to catch my breath. Tears burn in my eyes. "Let me go," I plead weakly. "Just let me go."

"I will when you tell me you're not going to run." He's panting and just as out of breath as I am. "You're crazy if you think Edward's just gonna be okay with me letting you run around the streets alone. Don't make me handcuff you, because I will."

I ignore the biting tone in his voice and take a deep breath. My chest fills with relief at Jasper's words, but I don't like being trapped. Hands scrabbling at his, I make another weak attempt to peel him away from me, but he isn't budging.

"Let me _go_," I try again.

He doesn't answer. Several minutes pass with only the sound of our combined heavy breaths. Ever so slowly, Jasper's hold on me loosens. Testing, I guess, to see if I'll run.

It's still a possibility; for the time being, I stay put.

Jasper's hands slide away and I take a step forward, struggling to catch my breath. I bend over and place my hands on my knees and try to steady myself.

"Jesus, woman," Jasper says. "You're just as stubborn as he is."

I spin around, looking up at him with a glare. He raises his palms in front of him and shrugs his shoulders to placate me, I guess. I stare at him, and though it's dark, the trail of blood running from his nose is unmistakable.

I gasp and point toward his face. "Did I do that?"

Something tells me I didn't. I'm afraid to hear the answer.

Jasper grimaces and shakes his head. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes his mouth, and then winces in pain. "No. " He licks his lip. "Your boy did."

"Oh no…" I clench my eyes closed as a fresh set of tears begin. The rest of my words get stuck in my throat.

"Hey," Jasper reaches out and squeezes my arm. I open my eyes and look up at him. "This is how guys settle shit. It's all good. He's got a couple of his own he'll need you to kiss later."

"Is he—" I start, but fail to finish once again.

The idea of Edward being hurt doesn't sit well with me. The sick feeling in my stomach grows. My eyes ask the question my lips can't seem to form.

Jasper, more than likely reading the discomfort on my face, says, "He's fine. Actually, I shouldn't say that. My fist didn't hurt him half as much as you running away did."

His voice is so soft, like he knows what telling me this will do. I turn away to hide the pain in my face. Desperately, I want to believe that. But Edward kept something from me, something big, and I'm sick to death of being kept in the dark about my life.

"If that's true, then why are you the one coming after me?"

"Because he needed a time-out to cool the hell down." Jasper reaches out to touch my shoulder. I accept the comforting gesture he's offering with a sigh. "Let me take you home."

I cross my arms over my chest and nod, turning to face him once more. As we walk toward the cruiser, my gaze lingers on the empty street for a second. I turn to look at Jasper.

"He's okay, right? I mean... he's..."

Jasper shrugs one shoulder and puts his hand on the roof of the car. The clacking sound of his wedding band against the metal of the cruiser hums through my ears. "That's up to you, Bella."

Lowering myself into the car, I contemplate what he means and I think I know what he's saying. Physically, Edward will be fine... but it's up to me to fix the rest. The question is whether or not I'll let him tell his story.

I shouldn't have run away – I should have listened to his explanation first and _then_ decided if I had a right to be mad. I just don't know if I'm ready to hear it yet. He kept something from me that I should have known... Maybe if he had tried harder we wouldn't be _in this_ confusing mess.

Jasper is quiet beside me. The only sound in the car is the crackle of the CB radio in the dash. I stare out the window as my mind continues to go in circles. The car slows to a stop and from the corner of my eye, I see a large sign: _Red Lion Hotel  
_  
My breath catches and I bite my lip in contemplation. It's like someone is telling me something, telling me that, to get on with my life, I need to face the past, too. Suddenly I don't want to wait the few days that have been suggested – I want to go there now and resolve this. I need to talk to her.

It's time.

Once this is done, I can focus on figuring out what comes next with Edward and me.

As Jasper accelerates, I put my hand on his shoulder. "Wait."

He slams on the brakes and looks over at me. "What the hell, woman?"

"I don't want to go home." I point out the window at the hotel sign.

Jasper stares beyond my hand and then looks at me. He frowns and then shrugs as he turns on his blinker. "He's already punched me once tonight. Can't imagine I'll be able to piss him off much more."

Jasper stops near the entrance to the lobby and stares at my face. I avoid his gaze, looking down at my lap as I reach for the handle on the door.

"You're sure you want to do this?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Nope."

"You want me to wait for you?"

I consider the question. What if she won't see me, or slams the door in _my _face, too? She's obviously angry. If it's true what Jasper said outside the store, that someone else is responsible for breaking into my house, I can't blame her.

And if she didn't do it, there has to be a reason she's still here in town. I owe it to myself to find out why.

I open the door and give him a thankful look. He really surprised me tonight. I didn't think he liked me very much based on past interactions.

"Just for a little while?"

He nods and puts the car in park. "I'll stay for a bit."

"Thanks, Jasper. For everything."

He waves me off. "I wasn't kidding when I said other people care about you, too. You're important to Alice, and well, what's important to her is important to me."

I smile at him and climb out of the car, taking a deep breath as I walk inside the hotel.

The clerk at the front desk looks bored. I smooth out my clothes and hair and approach him. "Can you tell me what room Renee Dwyer is staying in?"

"Are you a guest?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm her daughter."

He stares at me for a while, probably trying to figure out if the scary, sweaty girl in front of him is an axe murderer. I guess I pass his test, though. He checks his computer and then pulls out a map. "She's staying in one of our Premium King suites. If you walk through here and make a left, you'll find it. Room three-oh-five."

"Thank you."

My heart beats faster as I make the short trip toward her room. I'm not entirely sure what the hell I'm going to say. It's not like we're in the stage of our mother-daughter relationship where I can just knock and be casual. Things have changed.

I've changed.

All too fast I'm on her floor and, before I know it, standing in front of her door. I stop and suck in another deep breath, steeling myself for the possible outcome. I lift my hand to knock, but falter. What if she's really hateful again? My fingers curl into a fist and I squeeze, watching as the skin of my hand turns a bright white.

"You can do this," I whisper to myself. "You can do this."

I knock.

A minute passes and there's no response. I knock again, harder this time, but there's still no answer.

When I raise my hand to knock for a third time, the door flies open. I blink twice, stunned.

Renee stands there, looking absolutely nothing like the well dressed woman I've listened to my entire life. The high heels and red lips have been traded in for a ratty pair of sweatpants and a threadbare tank top. The perfect hair and disdainful looks are missing, too, taken over by a lank ponytail and even duller skin. She looks haggard – tired, like she hasn't slept in days.

She stares back at me quietly as I look her over, and then surprises me by stepping back and opening the door wider. I take it as a silent invitation to enter and step inside.

The room is big. And it's a complete mess.

Dirty clothes are strewn over chairs and across the bed. There are empty food containers and water bottles on a table near the window.

I frown and turn in a slow circle to take everything in. Crumbled tissues lay on the nightstand next to the bed and there are newspapers on the floor. It looks like my hotel room did when I broke down a few months ago.

At least I know now where my habit for hiding when things get rough comes from. Maybe it's a genetic trait.

A brief flash of regret flows through me. What if this is my fault?

The television is on some crime drama, volume low as if it was only on for company and background noise. Renee closes the door and steps around me, returning to the bed where the imprint of her body seems like it's on its way to becoming permanent.

I turn away from her to face the window, looking out at the ocean and trying to collect myself. Now that I'm here, I have no idea what to say. Where do I start?

"Are you going to say something?" she asks when I'm quiet for too long. Her voice is rough, like she's been crying.

"I'm working on it," I bite back.

She huffs. "How could you send those police here, Isabella?" Her voice more the tone I remember from last time we spoke: sharp and full of spite.

I run my fingers through my hair and turn around to face her, crossing my arms over my chest as I take a deep breath. "Can you blame me?"

She doesn't answer, which only serves to make me madder. She owes me an explanation because it's my life with my father she's taken from me. I start to tell her so when she sighs. It's a long, drawn out sound, something so very different from the bravado of just a few moments before. "No, I guess not."

Shock fills me at her agreeable response. This is a side of my mom I've never, _ever_, seen before. I'm not accustomed to dealing with this withdrawn and submissive version of her. I almost yearn for the domineering aspect of her personality because at least I know how to deal with that.

Even though I'm not exactly feeling strong at this moment, I somehow feel like I'm not as weak as her. Sadly, I don't know how to handle being the strong one in this situation.

"_Why are_ you still here?" I ask.

She stares at the television like it holds the answer to the question I've asked. In anger, I step in front of it. Her eyes lift to mine and narrow. There she is. I feel like I need to remind her that I'm not going to settle for any lies this time.

"I want the truth," I tell her. "About _everything_."

She takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders. I brace myself for the coming arguments, but she seems to inflate before my eyes instead. "I suppose I owe you that."

"Yes, you do." Truthfully, she owes me a lot of things. Like twenty-four years of lost time with my real father.

"I have no idea where to start."

I roll my eyes in exasperation. "Why not try the beginning?"

"Fine. You want to hear it, so here it goes. I met Charlie when he was in the academy. It was hard to resist the young men in their uniforms back then; especially him. I was out with my girlfriends at some dive bar in the city..."

Renee smiles softly at the memory and closes her eyes. Something about this softens my anger toward her a bit. I wait for her to continue.

"I was just a kid. And he was... very charming. I fell hard and fast. But he was from here, and I was from Seattle. I knew it would never work out."

I frown and take a few steps closer to the bed. She believed their relationship was destined to fail from the start. For some reason, this doesn't surprise me.

She sighs and her expression darkens. "When it came time for him to go home, he asked me to come with him. It would have never worked."

"You don't know that."

She's silent for a beat and then turns her gaze to the window. "No, I don't. But I told him no anyway. I thought it was a foolish thing for him to offer. We'd only known each other for a few weeks... Nobody meets the man they're supposed to be with in a _bar_. I wasn't ready to uproot my entire life on a whim."

"So you just walked away from him?" I ask, pain searing through my chest for what she put Charlie through even before I was in the picture.

"Yes. Of course, I didn't account for how much it would affect me."

"What do you mean?"

"After he left, I was devastated, and then I found out I was pregnant. And I was _angry _at him... and at myself for telling him no."

"Then why didn't you go back?" I ask. "Why didn't you at least _try_?"

"Because I was young and stupid," she says. Her voice breaks and a tear rolls down her cheek. "There was never a doubt in my mind about whether I would keep you, because even if I couldn't be with him... at least I still had a piece of him."

I shake my head in confusion. She makes no sense – two seconds ago she told me she willingly gave him up, but she didn't fight to make it right with him? "Then _why_ did you keep him away from me?"

"I guess, in part, I didn't tell Charlie the truth about you because I didn't want to hurt him."

"That doesn't make any sense! You _did hurt_ him."

"I didn't want to hurt either, okay," she insists. "I knew if Charlie knew about you he would try to get me back. I wasn't prepared to handle seeing him. I was trying to move on and make a _new life_."

"So you sacrificed his feelings – and _me _knowing_ my _father – to protect yourself," I mutter. "How could you?"

"Yes I did, okay? I did. _You were_ enough of a reminder! It hurt every single day. I couldn't handle the idea of him telling me no."

I shake my head. "What about after he saw me at the Space Needle?"

Shock crosses her face. "How do you know about that?"

"I had a little help," I say, thinking of Edward. Of that day. "He knew about me that day. He knew who I was! Why continue to lie? Why not let _me_ make that choice? He obviously wanted to be part of my life. Did you know he came to California to see me graduate? Hell, he left me his _house_, mother."

She shakes her head, looking contrite. "I didn't know... at the time, I didn't know."

I stare at her in anger. She didn't _know _because she didn't try. She walked away from _him_. All of this is her fault.

"Don't be angry with him," Renee says, bringing my attention back to her. "He tried very hard... and it was _me _who kept him away from you. I can admit that now, I take full blame for it."

"I'm not angry with him," I say sharply. "I'm... I _want_ to be angry with you."

"I deserve that."

There's another piece of this whole thing that still doesn't make sense. "Why did you tell Dad that you didn't know who my real father was?"

Her head snaps up and her eyes fill with more tears. "I should have figured you would speak to your dad..."

"Yes, I spoke with him today."

Her eyes snap to mine and her shoulders fall. "I was only about four months pregnant when I met your father. Phil, I mean... I was trying to deal with the feelings I was having over Charlie, and being pregnant and full of hormones didn't help. He was so amazing and he didn't _care _that you weren't his."

"So you felt like that gave you a free pass to _lie_?"

"You don't get it. He was this older, successful guy... and he just wanted to take care of me. Of _both _of us. He was already pretty involved in Grandpa's construction company at the time and I just wanted to escape from the pain. I wanted a way out. So after you were born, I came with him to California and we got married."

"Jesus Mom, did you even love him?" A pang of sadness hits my chest for Phil.

"Of course I did, Isabella," she snaps. "I'm not _completely _inhuman." I arch my eyebrow in doubt. "Okay, no, at first, it wasn't the same kind of love. But it grew into that... and I know that even though I made mistakes with a lot of things, he's not one of them. I love your dad."

"But you're _still _lying to him!" I insist. "And he's home... worrying about you. It's time to stop this."

For some reason, I feel guilty making her face her own demons, though I know I shouldn't. She made her bed without my help. She has to lie in it.

My eyes fill with tears and the weight in my chest grows strong. Not just for Charlie, but my mom and Phil, too. Hell, for this entire situation. I think I get it now... She didn't make the decisions she did because she was vindictive; she made them because her heart was broken.

Of course, it was her own fault.

She was being selfish and only thinking of herself. I know I should be angry that she kept me away, that she _lied_ to me for years and that she behaved the way she did in my house. But I've already been angry, and I just... can't do it anymore.

Now I feel nothing but sadness for her. She's been wearing this hard-ass mask for so long that she had no idea how to take it off and let herself _feel_.

"I think you should go home. Dad needs to know the truth, and I can't give him any more of it. It's up to you."

She sighs and reaches up to try and tame the mess that is her hair. "And you? Are you really going to stay here?" she asks quietly.

"Yes," I answer confidently. "This is where I belong."

"And the cop? Edward, was it?"

In the back of my mind I can't help but think of him, and to compare our situations. I walked away from Edward too – right after he admitted he loved me. But just like Renee, Edward kept secrets.

It doesn't matter, though, because hearing this has made me determined not to let history repeat itself. I glance at the door as the urge to go back to him storms through me.

"Your mistakes aren't mine, Mom," I tell her, smiling a little. "I want to be with him, and unlike you, I'm not afraid of the unknown anymore. He's my home."

Hopefully I still have a home to go back to...

"And he feels the same?"

"I think so." _God, I hope so._

She leans forward and grabs my hand, squeezing. It's one of the most motherly gestures she's ever offered me. "If that's how you feel, don't let him go, Isabella."

"I won't," I say. I move forward and hug her, blinking through tears. "Thank you."

I pull back and she looks at me with confusion. "For what?"

"For finally giving me the truth."

"I always planned to tell you someday," she says, looking sad. "I just didn't know how. I was selfish. You'll never know how sorry I am that you didn't get a chance to truly know him."

For once, I believe her. She's admitted to her mistakes and I truly think she's sorry for the hurt she's caused everyone. Forgiveness is the only step left for me to take with her. If it's what meant to happen, our relationship will heal in time.

Only the future can tell.

"I forgive you," I say, feeling a weight on my shoulders disappear as I do.

* * *

**Not what you expected? Yeah, I know. I'm really curious what you all think of Renee now.**

_FYI, the next chapter is the last chapter, which will be followed with a tiny epilogue. There's not much left to learn… and it's-a-comin'. ;)  
_**  
Thank you for reading. I heart you guys. And Copward hearts your snuggles.**

_xx_


	22. Chapter 22

Love, as always, to my girls. You know who you are – and that I couldn't rock this without you.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Copward's weapon.**

* * *

I walk out of my mother's hotel room with my head held high, a sigh of relief on my lips. That went better than I expected. I can't spend my life holding on to the anger I had for her. It's not healthy when nothing I do or say will change the past.

All that can happen now is to move forward – something I fully intend to do.

Though I never imagined I could sympathize with my mother, somehow, I do. Her actions would never be a choice that I would make, but at least I understand her better now. Because of her selfishness and the need to protect a broken heart, all of this was of her own doing. She made the wrong choices, and she's paid for them in spades.

She'll continue to pay for them.

Nothing will excuse what she did, but forgiveness was all I had left to give, and I gave it.

I just hope that Phil doesn't suffer any more than he already has. He doesn't deserve it. If what she said is true – that she really does love him – I hope they can work through this.

It's not my problem anymore, though. I have my own life to live.

I step out of the elevator and head toward the desk. It seemed like time flew by while she was talking: before leaving her room, I noticed it had been a little more than two hours since Jasper had dropped me off. He's probably gone home to Alice by now, and with my truck still at the store, flattened tires to boot, I'm not exactly sure how I'll be getting home. I figure I'll ask bored guy at the desk to call me a cab.

After my stunt earlier I don't exactly expect him to be, but something inside me hopes Edward will be there waiting for me.

My hands are still itching with the need to be close to him. If I learned anything from the past two hours, it's how important it is not to keep secrets. I meant what I told Renee: her mistakes won't be mine. I'm done with having problems solved for me by someone else. It's time to find out the truth and move forward from it, with or (as much as it pains me to think this) without him.

All I want is the chance to make my own decisions based on the truth.

To my surprise, as I round the corner in the lobby, he's here. I stop short, heart pounding frantically in my chest. He hasn't seen me yet; his eyes are cast toward the floor.

Although I know he's fought with Jasper, the sight of him so rumpled startles me. His hair is sticking up in every direction imaginable. The shirt of his uniform is torn at the collar, showing off a once white shirt stained a deep crimson. He's so still. If not for the rhythmic squeezing of his fingers on his knees, I'd think he was asleep in the chair.

A whoosh of air barrels out of my lips as the urge to run and bury myself in his arms takes over every single thought I have. I take two steps forward and then stop, trying to figure out why he's here.

At the sound of my footsteps on the lobby floor, his head snaps up quickly, sea glass eyes burning into mine. The look he gives threatens to break me apart. It's full of pain and anguish… _broken_.

A few tense moments roll by with nothing but the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. He's still staring at me as he pushes himself up from the shabby chair and takes a small step in my direction.

In the yellow light filtering from the overhead lights, his face shows unmistakable signs of his fight with Jasper. Unable to stop myself, I step toward him and lift my hand to his jaw, lightly tracing the faint purple bruise blooming beneath his skin. He winces but doesn't break eye-contact with me.

"Bella…" he trails off. I don't even know how it's possible, but his voice sounds worse than he looks.

"Are you okay?"

His eyes flick behind us and then settle back on me. "That depends. Are you?"

I nod. "I am now."

There's so much more I want to say. Things I need to explain. Questions I know I must ask. However, we certainly can't do it here – not in public. I slide my hand from his face until my palm is resting on his chest. His heart is pounding as unevenly as mine.

A few more seconds go by until he sighs and covers my hand with his. "Can I take you home?"

I wasn't sure he would ask, but it makes sense now why he's here. Suddenly, I can't imagine any other reason beside the simplest one: he was waiting for me. Relief fills me and I flick my eyes away from my hand and up to his face. I attempt a small smile.

"Yes."

Slowly, as if he's afraid I'll run again, he holds his other hand out for mine. I accept, finding a small measure of comfort in being wrapped up in some part of him – it's enough for now. We still have a lot of talking to do, and I'm not sure how much longer I'll be _able_to do this.

As soon as we're outside, he turns to me, eyes ablaze with determination. "I need to—"

"Not yet," I cut him off. "Not here." I look around as if to remind him we're in public.

He stares at me for several quiet moments and then nods, almost to himself.

With a sigh he turns and leads me toward his truck, opening the door for me and helping me inside. Instead of closing the door like I expect, he moves closer and lowers his forehead to my temple. His lips trace a path down my face to rest near my ear. "I'm so sorry. But I need you to know—" his voice breaks. "I meant what I said, every single bit of it. If I don't get a chance to say one more thing tonight, I have to say this... Bella, I love you."

A lump forms in my throat and I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes. Slowly, Edward pulls back, his eyes filled with fear for, what I assume is, my reaction to his words. I'm not sure I can return them yet. My mouth opens and closes several more times, but the words still refuse to come out. I _know_ I love him with my whole self, mind, body and everything in between, but I'm afraid. I'm scared to admit it now because what if he really lied and he _did _have a hand in Charlie's death?

I need to know the answers to these questions before I can give him what he wants.

So instead I turn my head and bury my face in his neck, inhaling the scent that's all him. It's tainted with the smell of blood and sweat and it turns my stomach, but I'm still not ready to pull away. This could the last time we'll ever be this close if I do.

Sensing I'm not going to say anything, Edward sighs and steps away, shutting the door quietly after him. It's impossible to miss the hurt on his face that I've caused. I distract myself with the seatbelt and notice my purse on the floor. I reach down to grab it, thankful that he was thoughtful enough to bring it for me.

"Thank you," I tell him. "I mean, for bringing this."

He nods and starts the truck. "You're welcome. Alice came by and took the deposit."

Edward stays pretty quiet after that, fingers tapping the steering wheel all jittery-like, as if he's cracked out on speed or Red Bull. I have the sudden urge to lean over and flick him a couple of times, but I don't.

It's not long before Edward pulls the truck into the driveway of my house and shuts off the engine. He sighs and rubs at his temples with the tips of his fingers. "I'm having your truck towed home tomorrow and we'll deal with the tire situation then, okay?" he asks, his voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

The sound of it makes the lump in my throat grow larger. I quietly thank him and reach for the door handle. I'm a nervous mess of fear and hope, wondering if he isn't planning to come inside with me, and even more nervous to ask if he is.

I step out and turn around to look at him. He's still in his seat, eyes on his lap and fingers still tap-tap-tapping on the wheel. Without looking at me, he reaches for his own door handle and opens the door.

Nodding once, I walk up the driveway while he trails two steps behind me. We meet at the bottom of the stairs and he stops me, reaching out to grasp my fingers between his. As usual, he seems to crave touching some part of me.

And I swear to everything that if this all works out well, I'm going to tell him how much I need the same.

At the top of the stairs, Edward stands behind me while I search my purse for my keys. My hands are shaking and I fumble a few times with the lock. Finally, he places his hand over mine and guides the key into the lock. Once it's finally clicked, I push the door open and move to take a step inside.

"Wait." Edward stops me with his hand on my shoulder. I look back in confusion to find his eyes are widened in fear and something else I can't quite pinpoint.

"What's wron—" I start, and that's when I smell it. Cigarette smoke.

In day-to-day life, it's a fairly normal smell. It lingers around the ashtray at work all the time, but here, in my house, it's enough of an oddity to cause instant panic. My lungs seize around a gasp, heart pounding double time now. I flatten myself against the door as Edward reaches for his gun. He unsnaps the holster and pulls out the weapon with his right hand.

"Get behind me," Edward barks, stepping around me.

I want to ask him what's going on, but he seems to have gone into cop-mode, effectively tuning me out.

Without hesitating, Edward rounds the corner of the workroom and, not wanting to be left outside alone, I race to follow. His boots clod across the floor in the kitchen and I trail behind him. My heart is beating so fast now I'm afraid I might pass out.

Suddenly, Edward stops. In my surprise, I nearly plow right into his back. He lifts his gun into the air and the safety clicks, reminding me of the day when it was me who stood on the other end of that very same barrel.

I swallow thickly as shivers run up my spine and plant my feet on the ground behind him. Closing my eyes, I inhale to calm myself down and the smell of smoke gets stronger. My stomach heaves. Someone laughs in the quiet room and the recliner creaks.

"Put it down, Masen. We both know you're not going to shoot me," a voice says.

I shudder in fear, but Edward doesn't seem fazed. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, Lon," he replies. His voice doesn't waiver at all.

"I know what you're capable of, kid. You're so predictable, E. So very predictable…" the other voice taunts.

Moving slowly so I don't distract Edward, I peer around him and into the darkness of the living room. There's a silhouette in the recliner, big and scary and totally unfamiliar. The hot-orange end of the cigarette in his hand glows brighter, lighting up his face as he inhales the smoke into his lungs and blows it out through a small 'o' in his lips.

The cherry of his smoke fades, casting him into ominous shadows once more. But not before I notice he has a close-cropped hair cut and a scraggly beard. As I try to make out more features, cataloging a mental picture of what I see, it finally registers what Edward has said.

_Lon.  
_  
Oh my god…

My memory flashes with bits and pieces of an article from weeks ago.

_…Vance stands at six-foot-two, weighs in the range of 180-190lbs and has brown hair and hazel eyes._

…Authorities believe he may have changed the color of his hair or altered his appearance by growing a beard.

…He's believed to be driving a gold 1994 Honda Accord.

The break-in. My tires. The flash of gold from earlier tonight. Everything… it was _him_. Lonnie Vance.

But what does the man who killed my dad want with _me_?_  
_  
Lonnie's laugh fills the room, breaking me from my distraction. I focus back on his face as anger pounds through my veins. He killed my father!

Edward doesn't say anything in return, but from the corner of my eye, I watch his finger twitch on the trigger like he's desperate to squeeze it. I stay quiet, still trying to slow down my breathing as my eyes bounce between the two men in front of me.

"You made it so easy, E. Breaking in here... slashing the tires on that decrepit old truck of Pops'. I knew you'd come to her rescue. I was just waiting for the perfect moment. You had to know it was only a matter of time."

While Lonnie's oily laugh fills the room, Edward tilts his head toward me, though still keeping his eyes and gun trained on the suspect. "I didn't want to keep this from you," he whispers. "I didn't know how – I wasn't sure how to tell you..."

That sickly laugh fills the empty spaces of the room once more. As much as I want to know the answers to whatever the hell is going on here, I want me and Edward safe first. His job is to protect –he's trained in this. I keep my mouth closed.

"Oh! This is perfect! Are you telling me she doesn't know?"

"Shut up," Edward growls, straightening his head once more. His breathing is labored and the gun isn't quite so steady anymore. His voice breaks as he says, "Bella, I'm so sorry."

Lonnie cuts in, "Oh boo hoo hoo." I watch him stand form the recliner, drop the cigarette between his fingers to my hardwood floor, and grind it out with the heel of his boot. "E... I always knew you'd get yourself into trouble if she ever came to town. You never could get over your infatuation with her."

I turn to look at Edward at this, remembering him telling me once that he recognized me immediately from my picture.

The tension in his body is so strong, shoulders flexing, elbow locking as he steadies his arm. He's scary-focused, pulled tight like an arrow and ready to fly across the room if he's let loose. I want to touch him, to let him know I'm not going to do something stupid, but I know instinctively that I shouldn't distract him out of the blue; if he doesn't keep his head straight, neither of us will walk out of this situation alive.

Slowly, so I don't startle him, I move my right hand to his back and press my fingers against his uniform, until I can feel the warmth of his skin underneath. The touch alone seems to offer him some newfound sense of determination.

Edward takes another step forward, breaking the contact with my hand. Lonnie steps in our direction at the same time. That's when I see what's in his other hand.

A glint of silver catches in the moonlight, and, instead of pointing toward Edward, the barrel is focused directly on me.

My eyes widen and I freeze.

"Tell me, E, do you think she'll jump in front of a bullet for you like her daddy did?"

I'm scared to death, but these words filter through my terror and resonate loudly around me. I gasp and reach up to cover my mouth, trying to hold back a sob.

Edward growls deep in his throat and steps forward again. "That's not going to be a problem."

"Let's ask her, shall we?"

"Don't talk to her," Edward snaps, stepping to the side. The only thing that lies between them now is the dining room table.

"Why don't we ask her what she thinks?" Lonnie says, winking at me. My stomach rolls. He takes a step in the opposite direction but keeps his gaze on me. "Did you know it was his fault? That if it wasn't for your boy here, daddy dearest wouldn't be dead?"

I shake my head back and forth. I have the urge to cover my ears and refuse to listen to him. I don't need to ask to understand what he's implying. I know now that _this_is why Edward blames himself. Why he thinks he's responsible for Charlie's death.

Charlie truly did take a bullet for him.

"Why are you doing this?" I whisper, tears clogging my voice.

Lonnie clucks his tongue. "My, my, E... She really doesn't know anything. Do you want to tell her the truth, or should I?"

Edward makes a frustrated sound and cocks his gun. Lonnie, either overly cocky because he isn't afraid or he's just plain stupid, doesn't back down.

"Come on! Tell her, Edward. Tell her how you betrayed me. Tell her how this is _all your fault_. Tell her that if you wouldn't have tried to get in the way that night, Charlie wouldn't even have _been_there!"

Edward kicks one of the dining room chairs to the ground in anger. "The only thing I'm guilty of is ever trusting _you_!" he shouts. "I did the right thing!"

"The right thing?" Lonnie laughs. "No. You betrayed me. You were my best friend for what? Ten years? More? Who even knows anymore. And when shit got tough, you chose that piece of shit badge over me."

Edward shakes his head. "You're fucking delusional."

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out and, on instinct, my hands fly to my ears. I drop to the floor immediately to protect myself. My breathing is entirely too loud at this point, interspersed with a frantic humming that shakes my whole frame. I'm not in physical pain, but I open my yes and look anyway. Nothing. I'm fine. I search the room for Edward and my heart feels like it stops beating altogether.

He's on the floor with his hand covering his thigh. Blood pools in a puddle beneath him, soaking into the slats in the hardwood.

I gasp and crawl toward him frantically, not caring where Lonnie might be. "No!"

Lonnie's laugh comes from behind me and I look up. He's standing over me, gun sickeningly close to my head. My chest seizes in fear and I freeze as Lonnie steps even closer to me. The cold metal of the barrel presses against my temple and Edward whimpers from the floor. The weight of the gun pushes my head at an angle.

I close my eyes and prepare for the worst.

No. No, no, no. There's something I have to do first. Before giving up completely, I blindly reach for Edward, not caring what might happen if I move. I open my eyes and look at him. His face is twisted in pain.

"I love you," I tell him through tears. "I love you so much."

The way his face contorts in fear and grief is too much to take. I take a deep breath and close my eyes again, waiting. A second passes, then two, or maybe more. Lonnie, this sick, twisted guy, must like playing with his prey first. The gun is too cold against my skin, too hard and terrible to even think rationally. Another chair crashes and I hear the thump of a body hit the floor.

And then there isn't pressure against my temple. I'm afraid to open my eyes, but when I do, I see Edward, Lonnie pinned to the floor underneath him. Somehow he's managed to overtake him.

As quickly as I can, I stand and look around, searching. I rush around the table looking for the guns. When I reach the other side, I stare down at Edward. His hands are wrapped so tightly around Lonnie's throat; I can hear the cracking of the tiny bones beneath his fingers. I grimace at the sound and Edward looks up at me with undiluted hatred in his eyes.

"Bella! Get out of here. Now."

I stare at him and my heart jumps into my throat. His eyes are so angry I take a step away from him in fear.

"Now, Bella. _Now_! I won't let him hurt another person I love. Please go," he pleads.

I take another step back, nearly tripping over my own feet. He's asking me to leave him here with a madman? I don't want to go, but see little other choices available. As it stands, I'm an unneeded distraction. Desperately, I search the room once more, hoping for a glimpse of one of the guns.

If I can find one, I'll just end this myself.

I turn and take a step toward the living room. Edward's eyes flash up to mine. "What are you doing? Go! Get help!"

While he's distracted by my movements, Lonnie somehow manages to get an arm free and sucker punches Edward in the jaw. Edward groans in pain and slumps forward, but doesn't lose his grip on Lonnie's neck.

I sprint to the kitchen, grabbing the phone and putting it to my ear. "The phone is dead," I whisper-yell. "The phone is dead!" I repeat, higher this time.

From the other room, I hear Lonnie gurgle out a laugh. Before he can say anything, Edward lifts the other man's head and slams it against the hardwood floor. The cracking sound echoes through the quiet room, vibration rolling through the bottoms of my feet.

"Bella, get out of here!" Edward pleads again through struggled breaths as he fights to keep Lonnie on the ground.

"I'm not leaving you!" My voice is high and frantic and full of tears. "I'm not leaving here without you," I tell him as best I can.

Edward's eyes soften for just a moment as he looks up at me. Sweat pours down his forehead and blood is trickling from his right eye. "Please," he begs. "Go find help."

My heart cracks as I turn away from him and obey his request.

Help. I have to get help.

In my haste to get out of the house, I nearly trip running down the back stairs. My voice is raw as I start to scream for help. Running into the street, I dodge a car making my way across. I pound on the neighbor's door as hard as I can. A woman I don't know opens it quickly with a sour look on her face, fully prepared, I'm sure, to yell at whoever it is that's banging at such a late hour.

"Call the police," I tell her. "Call them please!"

The woman's eyes widen and she moves back into her house. I hear her pick up the phone and dial. "There's a woman outside my house insisting I call the police."

She comes back toward the door. "Is this an emergency?" she asks.

I tighten my hands into fists. "Yes!" I shout, slamming my hands against the frame of her screen door. "Yes it's an emergency! Tell them it's Officer Masen and Lonnie Vance! They're in my house and he has a gun!"

Before the woman can say anything else, I dash back across the street. Without waiting, I start up the stairs to make sure he's okay; that I haven't lost him.

Halfway up the stairs, I hear the sirens.

I trip again, knee slamming into the wood below me painfully. I stop to catch my breath and push myself up once more, when the roar and squeal of one, two and then three patrol cars skids to a stop in the yard.

Before I can take another step, they're all parked and out of their cars.

"Stop!" A voice shouts. I look down, and in the darkness, I don't recognize who it is.

"Edward! He's in there," I screech.

"Bella! Come back down here, honey," the man calls again.

"Edward," I whimper. "Edward is in there with... Lonnie... Lonnie..." I choke out.

As the weight of the situation hits me, I crumple to the stairs beneath me and struggle to breathe.

Arms wrap around me and I feel my body being moved until I'm sitting in the back of a police car with a blanket tight around my shoulders. I fight against the arms banded around me, a desperate, screeching banshee with a single thought to get back inside that house with a blunt object in my hands.

I was so, so wrong about everything. And Edward is still inside, bloody and weakened and fighting the deranged madman who killed my father.

"Stay here," Embry leans into the open door and tells me. "Let us handle this. We're going to get him out safe, okay?" He stands and starts to turn away.

It's at that moment that gunshots sound off inside the house. Each one feels like it's penetrating my heart.

_Bang. _One.

_Bang. _Two.

_Bang. _Three.

_Bang. _Four.

_Bang. _Five.

The sounds of the gun going off fade to silence quicker than I can blink away the tears running unchecked down my face. Every officer around me falls silent, and I want to scream at them for just standing there. Fear stabs my chest as I scramble to get out of the car. My legs tangle in the blanket and I fall to my knees with a scream in my throat.

"Edward!"


	23. Epilogue

Thought I'd make you wait until, Friday, didn't you? :) I'm not entirely heartless, hee. Happy birthday **vysed**!

**Nicki, K, H and Cosmo: for every word, giggle, sprinkle and moment you spent listening to me about this story, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I love you guys.**

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Dirty blond curls bounce as she's twirled around the floor. Even over the thumping beat of the music, her giggles float across the room to me.

As he leans in to whisper in her ear, her chubby little fingers twist into the hair at the nape of his neck. She's staring up at him with what I can only describe as awe. I do, too.

The smiles she gives him are so reminiscent of her daddy, all dimples and teeth. It's only when she's mad that she resembles her mom.

A warm hand on my shoulder brings my attention away, and I look over to my left. Rosalie is watching her, too; watching them.

"He spoils her," she says, picking up a champagne flute and taking a sip. She sits ungracefully in the chair at my side and does her best to control the too-large wedding dress hanging in creamy white folds from her frame.

I giggle at her pained look. She was the one who wanted the fairytale gala.

When she rolls her eyes at my amusement, I glance back in their direction to see what she's seeing. This time, my eyes land on his face. It's hard not to miss the wince as his eyes crinkle and he transfers Claire from one hip to the other. He still has pain – especially on days like today. We've been on our feet since the early morning hours.

Still, he wouldn't deny her anything, even if it meant a little discomfort. The doctors tell us that no matter how much physical therapy and exercise, he'll always have pain in his thigh from the gunshot wound.

I close my eyes to block out the sounds and memories of that night as they come flooding back in a rush.

_"Edward!"_

_The flurry of officers that storm the back steps of my house causes my head to spin. Numb, I stay where I am, waiting for someone to come back and tell me the news I most want to hear._

_I tell myself over and over that he's okay. He has to be._

_Every second feels like a minute, every minute that passes may as well be an hour. I don't know how long it takes for my breath to come back and for my heart to settle._

I shake my head to clear it. As much as I wish it didn't, that night, particularly those moments of terror because I simply didn't _know_, still haunt me. The gunshots still creep into my dreams. Though they aren't as often as they used to be, they still hit when I least expect. I wake up sweaty and breathless, gasping for air. Usually, sleep is lost for the rest of the night after one of those dreams.

Luckily, there's always a warm body by my side when I wake. His presence alone reminds me that, no matter how bad the dreams are, how frightening those minutes were before I finally heard his voice calling my name, the reality is _so _much better.

"She loves him," I tell Rose, smiling.

After the stress of the trial, when Edward had to testify and I listened to his account of what happened on the night my dad died, finding out that Rose was pregnant was a welcomed distraction.

As it turned out, Lonnie and Edward were close friends all throughout their childhood. They'd met in the time Edward was between his own father's home and my dad's, a pair of kids shuttled into the system and clinging to each other for a spare bit of normalcy. Things changed when they got to high school, though. Lonnie fell in with the wrong kind of crowd while Edward chose a different path.

Lonnie never forgave him for choosing honor over their friendship.

Charlie paid for that grudge with his life when he jumped in front a bullet to save the kid he'd raised as his own.

Every day I mourn the loss of knowing my dad, and I know Edward misses him, too. But it feels good to know that the man who took him from us is paying for it. After six months, Lonnie was convicted to serve a life sentence without the possibility of parole.

When it came time for Claire to arrive just over a year and a half ago, Edward made the trip with me. It was refreshing to return to California for the first time in more than a year. I got to show Edward my favorite things and finally introduce him to Phil, Rose and Emmett.

It was the first time I'd been face to face with my mother again as well. Things were still patchy between us, but we took it one day at a time. The relationship would probably never heal fully, but we spoke more often now.

My eyes focus as Edward twirls Claire around again. I've never seen him look at anyone else the way he looks at her. They've shared their own special bond since the first time he laid eyes on her – none of us can seem to explain it.

It makes Emmett jealous; Rosalie, of course, just laughs. Personally, I love it. It's opened my eyes to the bond he'll someday have with _our _children.

Rose, who never liked any of the guys I dated, freaking loves Edward. She said once that anyone who could make me chill out enough to leave dishes in the sink overnight had her highest respect.

I have to agree. He's pretty much a keeper.

"Yeah, yeah… I know," Rose replies. "At least I know she'll be in good hands while we're on our honeymoon."

"Like there was every any doubt." I roll my eyes.

She puts her arm around my shoulder and leans in close. "So, am I ever gonna get to go all maid-of-honor-zilla on those bitches up in Washington?"

I shrug and lean my head against hers, snorting out a laugh. "Maybe someday," I tell her. "We're not in any hurry. We have the rest of our lives."

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**You know I couldn't end it without one last cliffhanger, right? Forgive me?**

This really, truly is the end. Thank you to each and every one of you that took the time to read this story and invest your time in these characters, it was a true pleasure sharing it with all of you. I can't say I won't revisit these characters again in the future, but for the time being, I'm marking this story as complete. Thank you, yet again, for taking another journey with me - it's been a fantastic ride.

**xx**


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